Furball
by LadyNRA
Summary: The entire Jupiter 2 crew gets a chance to take a voyage on a luxury cruise.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Furball

**Author:** LadyNRA

**Rating**: T just to be safe

**Spoilers**: None that I can think of

**Characters**: Dr. Zachary Smith, West, the Robinsons, the Robot AND a whole cast of 'extras'.

**Genre**: Action/Adventure

**Disclaimer**: The folks who created LIS, pure geniuses that they are, are responsible for everything on the show. I'm just having fun with the characters. I figured they just needed to enjoy themselves for a change.

**Summary**: The entire Jupiter 2 crew get a chance to take a voyage on a luxury cruise.

**Author's Note: **This first saw print (yes I said print) back in the 90s. A fanzine editor…anyone remember those?...had put out several challenges, one for each zine she published. The theme for one of them was basically to take characters from one show and put them into another TV or movie universe. It could be a total rehash of an episode with other characters or just some references to another series/movie. Furball was my answer to this challenge. Muchas gracias to Lostinspacefan for the beta read.

**FURBALL**

**by LadyNRA**

A shriek in the vastness of space goes unheard and unnoticed. But within the narrow confines of the sleek metal saucer shaped Jupiter 2 the indignant sound reverberated against the bulkheads, causing several heads to turn.

"Will, dear," Maureen Robinson chided gently, "please stop irritating your sister." She sighed, and gave her husband a knowing glance. She'd just spent part of the morning trying to come up with ideas to alleviate the boredom ... unsuccessfully, she was forced to admit at that very moment. They'd played the same games a hundred times over, read the same books at least that many times, and rechecked the same equipment so often that even the girls were totally familiar with every component and circuit.

In his open cabin, Dr. Zachary Smith watched the two youngest children arguing over a Space Monopoly move in a most uncharacteristic manner. Had they not been brought up so properly by their parents, the two youths would undoubtedly have been hurling some choice words at each other. As it was, they were hurling daggers with their eyes and imploring their mother to choose sides. Wisely, the beautiful matriarch of the Robinson clan just sighed and said, "Why not re roll the dice, Will?"

Smith's thin lips hitched up at the corners as he observed Will's look of disgust. It was clear he considered re rolling to be a step backward rather than a "draw" in the debate. The red headed boy made a barely audible comment to his sister, who replied with another exasperated and equally high pitched sound. In a flurry of movement she stalked off into her cabin and closed the accordion fold doors with a resounding slam.

"John, maybe we should put down somewhere just to stretch our legs and get some fresh air," Maureen said softly, her eyes imploring.

"How about another party?" the Robot replied, with a joyful tone that sounded suspiciously strained.

From his reclining position, Smith yawned very loudly and called out, "Remember, it's NOT my turn, booby. Kindly select someone else for the honor this time, if you please!"

Dr. Smith's third birthday party that month had failed to boost his spirits, though he'd gone through with it just to humor everyone. They'd gotten a chuckle out of his feigned glee at the first one, his forced humor at the second one, and his banal acceptance of the last one.

Smith had just finished reminding the Robot that Judy hadn't gotten her third party yet when the mechanical man threw up his claws in disgust and 'stalked' out of the room. The poor Robot, who wasn't supposed to experience "a state of boredom or exhaustion," had nevertheless grown sick and tired of planning each surprise gathering and not receiving much thanks for it. Still, he had to admit to himself that perhaps ten celebrations in four weeks _was_ a bit much. "Sheesh, I've worn out my circuit for this?" he muttered to himself as he rolled away from the youthful hissy fit still playing itself out before him.

"There must be something else we can do to redirect their energies," John said to his wife, who was looking weary and frayed around the edges.

"I hate to admit this, John, but I think Dr. Smith was right when he diagnosed the problem. We need to get ourselves out of this ship. This has become my home, and even I feel as if the walls are closing in."

"Need I remind you, madam," called Smith, "that rats enclosed in too small a container for an extended period of time will eventually turn on each other, tooth and claw, rending and tearing."

Maureen couldn't see the smirk on his face, but the "I told you so" tone was there. Most definitely there. A frown darkened her brow, which was already aching from so much use.

Seeing the angry arch on his wife's brow, John cupped her cheeks in his strong hands and whispered, "I know this is tough on all of us. And perhaps Smith IS right about the escalation in arguments being due to our inability to leave the ship for an extended period of time." John pulled her into a gentle embrace, speaking over her shoulder. "Believe me, I'd love to go for a moonlight stroll with the most beautiful woman in this entire universe. But in all honesty, I don't want to set down in some potentially hostile environment just to give us a chance to stretch our legs."

"AAAHHHH!" grunted Smith, as he stretched muscles bound up by disuse. He ambled over to them, disregarding the intimate embrace his "leaders" were in. "Professor! While it may seem crude to eavesdrop, I for one would like to cast my vote for a hasty planet fall. Right now, the presence of Herculean beasties and Jabberwockies might at least add some diversion to our routine!"

John's right eyebrow shot skyward, in vague mimicry of Smith's favored non verbal expression of disbelief. Though he knew Smith was being his usual sarcastic self, he couldn't help but say, "Sounds like cabin fever has gotten the better of your good judgement, Doctor! Perhaps it would be safer for you to stay on board even if we did find a suitable place to put down."

"Indeed!" harrumphed Smith. "Are you implying I've lost my senses?"

Maureen edged closer. She saw the way John's body had grown still and tense. And she noticed Smith's spine straighten and his blue eyes hurl icy darts at her husband. "Please!" she yelled in frustration. "Let's not argue. I've had enough of that to last a lifetime already!"

Though she doubted Smith would have ever taken her husband on in a fight, she knew that the principles explained to her by the doctor concerning rat behavior was being acted out before her very eyes over the last few weeks. And nothing she nor anyone else had tried was breaking the ever escalating cycle of anger, sullen retreat, calm, anger, sullen retreat ...

It pained her to do it, but she stepped between the two angry men. She was surprised to find that Smith didn't even use that as an opportunity to make his typical and expedient escape. That was a trouble sign all by itself, she realized, since she'd never seen the doctor seriously stand up to anyone before.

Despite John's gentle nature and kind heart, she grew worried that the "infection" was affecting him too. In fact, she wondered how she'd managed to avoid the growing plague herself. Perhaps it was because she'd been too busy corralling everyone else and trying to channel, with the Robot's help, the over abundance of "spare time" that was making everyone else so "edgy."

"Dear, let's talk about this in private." The gentle, imploring murmur brought her husband's hardened eyes away from Smith. She saw them soften almost immediately as love began to pour through them, caressing her with their warmth.

"Let's do that," he agreed, ignoring Smith who continued to stand there, arms akimbo, as the couple walked away toward their cabin.

Once safe in the confines of the dimly lit room, Maureen collapsed onto the bed. "Please, John. Let's give ourselves a break. Pretend we are on vacation if you like. Will isn't happy with nothing challenging to do. Penny misses the Bloop and might benefit from finding another pet ... a safe one, of course, and only with your approval. Judy misses the plants and her garden. I know Don is getting restless because he's been putting the ship through some unnecessary maneuvers just to change the pace a bit. And Dr. Smith," she concluded with a vague smile, "well, I know what he misses. But in the absence of a fast ticket home, he seems content being able to lie around in the sunshine."

John chuckled. "I guess the latter is in short supply around here lately, isn't it?

"As the good doctor would say ... 'Indeed.'"

A strong, masculine finger traced the line of his wife's jaw, savoring the little pleasures, like the satin softness of her skin. With her here beside him, and his family nearby, he was content. Yet he had to admit that perhaps everyone would benefit from a break, including himself. And, he amended silently, maybe the benefits would outweigh the risks. Despite the little voice in the back of his head expressing doubt, he smiled at his beloved spouse.

"All right, I'm willing to make a brief stop PROVIDED it's clearly a safe place to land."

Maureen hugged him for a good long while ... until she heard a few game pieces hitting the wall. With an exasperated sigh, she went to find the Robot. Maybe she could convince their mechanical friend to whip up just one more "Maple Surprise" cake ...

The never ending night surrounded the ship as it silently sped through the vacuum of space. On the bridge, Don monitored the scanners for any sign of a habitable planet. Pulling another sip from the coffee cup, he leaned back and fought off sleep. He could have slipped off to his cabin and set the sensors on "alert" mode. And the temptation was growing greater still, but he wanted to scan the distant star patterns one more time. Anything to break the "rut."

"Nothing!" he grumbled, though he knew the likelihood of finding a recognizable constellation was practically non existent. "Oh well, might as well turn in." With a grunt, he stooped over the console, set the alarm systems, and headed down the ladder to the now silent lower deck.

A cacophonous clangor resounded through the dreams of the five adults and two children sleeping below. Everyone, still groggy and sleepy eyed, hurried toward the upper deck. Don and John, unwilling to wait for the slow elevator, climbed the ladder. By the time they had gotten to the front view screen, Smith and the two women were just appearing at floor level. Will and Penny, excited to have something "new" happen, even if it might have been dangerous in nature, barreled toward the command chairs and shouldered their way past the grown ups.

Within seconds the lift had returned to the lower level and reappeared bearing the Robot, who promptly took up position behind the group. Will smiled up at him, relishing the presence of his true and totally loyal friend. If there was peril ahead, he knew the Robot would surely protect him while the other adults were busy making defensive preparations.

In the huge view port a small gleaming object was set like a silver jewel in a velvet, ebony backdrop. As they drew closer, a vessel took shape. They could see a faint glow emanating from four equidistant "barrels" at the stern end of the hammerheaded ship. The strange ship grew to enormous proportions before their awed eyes. Its sleek, seamless surface seemed made of whirling, red tinted mercury, complete with an almost reflective surface. The only detail that interrupted its appearance was the presence of hundreds of minute dots covering most of the aft section.

Don instinctively cut power and allowed the ship to drift past the vessel. A loud staccato burst of popping bubble like noises splashed out of the radio.

Without permission, the Robot sent a similar round of gurgling sounds back through the transmitter.

"Robot!" Will and John yelled in unison. John Robinson put a steadying hand on his son's shoulder, an effective plea to keep quiet while more mature individuals handled the problem.

"All right, Robot," the elder Robinson stated. "What's this all about?"

The glass bubble dropped down with a pop, but the red clawed limbs stretched out in a perfect imitation of a shrug. "I'm sorry, Professor Robinson. The ship's automated computer system was simply trying to ascertain if we were friend or foe. Our vessel is not part of their vehicle identification registry, and I was supplying it with some of the required information."

Crossing his arms, John faced the huge ship and then the Robot. "Information for what?" he asked patiently, hoping he was reading the Robot's calm demeanor correctly.

"Registration."

Before John could open his mouth, Smith growled, "Spit it out, you Secretive Simpleton!"

"For docking," came the succinct reply. As soon as the words were spoken, there was a gentle surge of the Jupiter 2's forward motion.

"Docking?" Smith almost choked on the word. "Why ever would we desire to dock with that ... that metallic monstrosity?"

Don was trying frantically to pull free of the tractor beam, but immediately realized that the pinkish beam of light was far more powerful than they were.

The Robot swiveled in a semi circle, as if to look at each of them in turn. "Because this is the answer to your prayers. Before you is the 'Gaelorian Gem', an intergalactic resort ship. You wanted a vacation — well, this is surely the answer to your dreams!"

John almost laughed at the joy in the Robot's voice, as if he too would enjoy a break from the lonely tedium of space travel. He waved a casual gesture at Don to totally cut power. "What do you think?" Robinson asked his grinning wife.

"Well, it certainly SEEMS harmless enough. Why not?" And she giggled at the prospect of possibly going to a resort after being three years away from Earth and probably six years from their last 'get away'. She felt the beam slowly pulling them toward what was presumably a docking bay. "Besides, it doesn't seem like we have much of a choice."

Frowning slightly, John glanced at his wife. He wondered what she meant. Did she acquiesce because they really did need to move around in larger quarters, or was it because she felt lured by circumstances, like that tractor beam, which were beyond her control?


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

Huge! That was the only way to describe the docking bay. And yet even that word seemed inadequate. Immense, Penny supplied. Humongous, Will added. Gigantic, stated the Robot, inadvertently playing the game.

"Bah, you Gargantuan Gargoyle! Just keep your sensors 'peeled' for danger, do you hear me?"

Penny just rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on, Dr. Smith. How can you worry about such things? I mean, really, here you are, about to enjoy food and entertainment from all over the galaxy. Maybe they even have casinos." She saw the light growing in Smith's eyes. It was taking unfair advantage of his weakness for games of chance, she knew, but she didn't want him spoiling her "dreams".

"No Casinos!" her father stated flatly, pointedly looking at the Doctor. "If I catch you anywhere NEAR one, I'll personally drag you back here and lock you in your cabin, under guard."

At that, Smith stood at insulted attention, then wilted slightly when he saw the unwavering gleam in Robinson's eyes. But he had to give it one last shot. "I'll have you know, sir, that I happen to be exceedingly lucky at games of chance. Think what WE could buy with my winnings! Spare parts for Jupiter 2 ..."

Winner or not, Robinson knew from past experience that Smith wouldn't be able to quit once he got the scent of money in his nostrils. "That's an order!" he barked, effectively cutting off the Doctor's cajoling.

The Robot's bubble clunked down. He knew what the statement "under guard" meant. HE'D be the one stuck playing jailer. From past experiences, he knew that trying to keep Smith corralled was like trying to get hold of a slippery eel with oily hands. His memory banks sighed with resignation. The answer, pure and simple, was to hound Smith's every step and keep him out of trouble in the first place.

Robinson was thinking along similar lines. "Come to think of it, maybe I should assign the Robot to be your personal bodyguard while we're here."

"Indeed!" Smith sputtered, then added in his most pleasant voice, "Very well, Professor, have it your way. I pledge to remain far from the 'Casino' should there happen to be one." As he said it, his mind wandered to the hiding place in his cabin where he'd stored a small collection of gems gathered during their previous wanderings. It wasn't much and he didn't know if they were valuable, but maybe ... Well, no, maybe not. _If I push Robinson too far, I'll be stuck trying to give that tyrannical traitor the slip the whole time we're here,_ he reminded himself sullenly.

Sighing, and without asking permission, he parked himself in John's recently vacated command chair and watched their guided progress past an amazing variety of space faring vessels. Some were saucer shaped, not too unlike their own. Others were more cylindrical. Still others looked like amorphous globes which pulsated and seemed more "animal" than mineral. One even looked like the venomous lion fish of earth, all spines and fins and bright colors.

The beings who swarmed and swirled down gangways and alleys between ships were as varied as the ships themselves. There were huge four armed humanoids, slug like, slimy, tentacled cephalopods, gentle looking creatures with muzzles like canines and floppy rabbit ears. There was something that looked like a paramecium being following by a latticed, tubular, purple "rug". Being great and tiny, of all colors, shapes and compositions paraded to and from small, docked vessels.

"Look!" Penny exclaimed, pointing at some tall, thin humanoids. "Taurons," she added with assurance, though she wasn't absolutely certain of that fact.

"And there's someone that looks like Creech," Don said, gesturing to an ape like being with long, reddish facial hair and long wisps of red hair poking from his (or her) sleeves.

"Ugh!" was all Smith could say, as he remembered that horrid creature who had been incinerated trying to lead he and Don off the prison planet. A place, he vividly and painfully recalled, where they were "set up" to make an escape attempt and thereby find Creech's accomplices and his store of stolen deutronium.

A trio of hirsute creatures walked directly beneath the hovering Jupiter 2. One was much larger than the other two, but plainly colored a dull, dun hue. The smallest was more of a tawny shade and was constantly scanning the crowd with a head that seemed capable of swiveling 360 . The middle one was brilliantly emblazoned with many different colors, and playfully bumped into one companion then the other. All three were chained together by what was presumably jewelry of some kind rather than some sort of restraining device.

After a moments' reflection, the Doctor stated, "I wonder which are the sentient beings and which are the pets?"

Dotting the docking bay floor were hundreds of small, flat, airborne devices which floated about three feet off the floor. Small containers were stacked neatly on top. They whizzed past crowd and ships at prodigious speeds, narrowly missing the pedestrians.

Eventually the Jupiter 2 was guided, invisibly, to a berth, where several of the floating platforms were lines up.

John listened to the slowing hum of the drive engines, and glanced out the view port. The hustle and bustle of activity, and the incredible menagerie of beings parading about brought a mix of feelings racing around his mind. Part of him found this innocent enough. After three years of space faring, he had quickly grown to realize that not every being was a "foe" and not every pleasant face was a "friend". But his innate sense of caution prohibited him from lowering the landing struts.

After a second he turned to carefully observe Dr. Smith, who was intently watching the steady stream of corporeal and mechanical movement passing through a very large portal just to the starboard side of their vessel. John knew that no one in the entire Galaxy seemed to have such a well developed radar for sensing danger. Nor such a well developed knack for drawing it to him.

At that moment the doctor was leaning against the bulkhead, with one forearm beside his head. He seemed just the tiniest bit agog at the vista before them, but was otherwise relaxed. If, John reasoned, Dr. Smith wasn't particularly frightened then most likely there wasn't too much to worry about. Then again, the fact that Smith seem wholeheartedly in favor of this shore leave could also spell trouble.

Exhaling heavily, he nodded at Don. "Okay, lower the steps, but no one is to exit yet. We leave as a group, and for now we travel as a group. Is that understood?"

He was greeted with a host of "You bet's", "All right!" "Fine with me!" and one haughty "If I must."

"Robot, you stay here and guard the ship."

"Figures," came the dejected response from behind them.

Don took four steps down and surveyed the area surrounding the ship. A few floating platforms had moved closer, but just hovered about five feet from the outer perimeter of the ship. Nudged from behind by John, his leather booted foot connected with the metallic floor. It should have been hard as a rock, but he noted that it had the slightest give to it, as if the surface had padding underneath. He knew it was an impossibility, but mentioned it to John just the same.

Before John could react, Will reached down and touched the decking material. Surprise, he pulled his hand back. "It tingles, and feels pretty warm," he observed.

"Perhaps to bring comfort to all these beings that obviously have a preference for 'barefootin'." Smith's grimace and the twang he added to his voice on the last word brought a grin to Maureen's lips.

"Well, Doctor," she began, "when in Rome ..."

Just as she finished the word, a couple of multi limbed, dome headed, hirsute bipeds padded by in little more than brief, bejeweled girdles about their loins.

"Oh please, madam, surely you wouldn't expect us to resort to the indignity of trekking around here in our "undies" just because some of these benighted creatures prefer a state of near nudity, would you? I shall remained clothed and shod, if you please."

The false dignity of Smith's posturing brought a pleasant chuckle from several of the Robinson party.

"Very well, Doctor," John acquiesced. "Actually, I am forced to agree with you this time. That is, unless there happens to be a huge swimming pool filled with the clearest, coolest water in the whole galaxy. If that's the case, I fully intend to strip down to my 'skivvies' and enjoy myself!"

"Bah!" spat Smith, though it was plain to see that the wheels were already turning in the doctors' head. It had been ages since he'd done some sun soaking and bathing on the Riviera. Maybe a brief dip in a "real" pool WOULD be nice at that, he mused. Absently he wondered if this sector of the galaxy knew anything about diving boards.

Once past the main 20 foot tall portal, they were joined by about thirty other beings. Most were clad in gaily or loose fitting garments, IF they had any garments on at all. They communicated in a wide variety of totally unrecognizable languages. Some clearly used their large array of appendages to express themselves. Others made sounds that approximated laughter, while others made hissing sounds, which while hostile sounding, seemed to indicate pleasure.

Two tailed quadrupeds walked before the Jupiter 2 crew, the prehensile tails entwined and causally stroking the other.

"How lovely," Smith whispered sarcastically, but Will hushed him.

"Really, William! Mind your manners."

"I am, and I think you should be minding yours," the youth explained ingenuously, but with a faint smile.

Smith seemed inclined to argue further then though better of it. Instead he courteously bowed toward the boy in mock surrender. _Outsmarted by a precocious eleven year old!_ he mused silently, then fought to suppress a grin. It felt wonderful to be on this adventure, and perhaps, just this once, he'd convince himself to keep out of trouble. That resolution lasted about one minute when, as a diamond clad alien passed in the other direction, he recalled the small horde of jewels secreted away back in his cabin.

"Money, money, money!" he murmured to himself, as he observed a pirate's dream parade past in a diaphanous golden garment and glittering chains. "Millions!" he cautiously assessed, as he estimated what all the gold and gems were worth on that one creature alone. He found himself wringing his hands in anticipation and uncharacteristically shoved them in his pockets.

Will caught the gesture and sent and inquiring glance at the older man who had become an uncle and best friend all rolled into one. A one sided grimace pulled down his lips. He shook his head and prayed that this trip wouldn't be spoiled by the doctor's unwavering, rapacious, and self admitted desire for wealth and power.

They hadn't gone more than 100 feet from the portal when they came to what appeared to be a moving sidewalk. There were several of them, all moving at various speeds, with the slowest tracks on the outside. On the more sluggish track, poles on the perimeter were spaced about ten feet apart. Atop the poles were nest like cups, but at present they were all empty.

Many beings were entering onto the near tracks, then gradually moving over to pick up the fastest moving walks in the center.

The Robinsons, Major West, and Dr. Smith wisely got onto the outer walk and stayed there. Signs above them were written in about five languages, none of which were familiar. It seemed smarter to just follow the crowd and hope they could figure out where the Gaelorian Gem's version of a "front desk" was.

A few more corridors emptied onto the walkway further ahead. Smith glanced down each one as the walk grew more crowded. Overhead a gelatinous jellyfish like alien tried to keep up with the pace of the pedestrians below, but seemed incapable of accomplishing the task. Finally, with a great heave, it spurted up to one of the poles and wrapped its translucent tentacles around the "nest".

Unfortunately the being seemed to misjudge the speed at which they were traveling and slipped free, floundering in the air just above them for a split second. As if in a panic, it lashed out and inadvertently latched onto the left side of Dr. Smith's face.

As a look of terror flashed across the Doctor's features, he howled in pure, unadulterated horror. His first instinct was to tear the offending, clammy feeling creature from his bare skin, but then he felt his body awash with an all consuming fear that, incomprehensibly, didn't seem to be his own. It made his stomach flip and brain cringe. His mind screamed "Let me go!" over and over, repulsed by the alien sensations that floated through his consciousness. And then he became aware of the Robinsons closing in, their body language trumpeting their desire to protect him.

Don's hands were already reaching out to pry the attacker loose when Smith felt the fear magnify. His mind seemed to whimper, and though no words formed, he sensed the presence there more fully. Pictures formed by the thousands, as if a computer were dumping its entire database into his mind. Then, in what seemed like a gradual passage of time, the images began to coalesce into clearer patterns.

Deep in the back of his mind, he knew the ordeal had lasted but a split second. Don's grasping hands were still closing in. Without understanding why, he held up a warning hand and the Major, looking thoroughly confused, tentatively withdrew. In the ensuing calm he once more felt the touch of an alien mind in his. A mind that was pleading, empathically, for help.

Realizing this whole encounter wasn't harming him, the scientist within Smith, full of curiosity and maybe even the remnants of child like wonder, reached out to link his thoughts with the translucent, pulsating creature.

Similarly the being seemed to sense that it was safe, and cautiously merged its mind with this truly hideous looking, hand hugging, warm skinned "alien".

"Hideous!" Smith's mind shouted angrily at his passenger. "How dare you insult me, you sorry sack of spit!" And then he felt what he could only describe as laughter, though it rippled and tickled in the depths of his mind instead of permeating the air with audible sounds.

_ Veeeery ... Sorry!_ it seemed to respond.

Smith felt the alien probing his mind, looking for information. Language skills, he deduced correctly, as the alien sent a string of single words at him. Then one word linked with two and then with three, and finally it spoke to him in a full, clear sentence.

_Goodness, you land bound have an unnecessary number of words to express yourself, don't you?_

_ I'll have you know that many humans pride themselves on their ability to communicate articulately._

_ Yourself, included, I see._ The mental contact was gentle, soothing, devoid of condemnation. There was also a light fluttering of humor, pure and without scorn.

Smith harrumphed mentally. _Why not? I have gained much respect over the years because of how I present myself to others!_

_And much loathing_ was the soft, almost sympathetic reply.

Smith was about to loudly shout, "How dare you judge me!" when he felt his body become awash in euphoria. It seemed to permeate every cell in his body. It seemed to target his memories too, memories so full of pain at the loss of his family (those who remained, that is), his beautiful home, his status, and his few treasured friends. His sharp, tightly wound mind was suddenly soothed... by...he was so caught up in the cleansing rush that he couldn't remember what the substance was called.

_Endorphins_ came the answer from a mind not his own.

In spite of himself, and perhaps because of his total weakness at the moment, Smith inquired, _How do you know that?_ Then, in the time it took for the firing of a synapse, he answered his own question. _Oh, right; we're directly linked._

He felt another rush of endorphins as the creature manipulated his endocrine system while it sought to convey its intent to do no harm. The experience was so utterly reassuring, so purifying, that Smith opened his thoughts completely, without reservation, to its gentle probing. But then, with a painful wrench, he tried to dislodge the creature's presence from the most personal and intimate parts of his mind. He had secrets stored there, things he would even have tried to hide from God if he could, things so private and painful that he didn't want himself, let alone another soul, recalling them.

As if sensing this terrible suffering, the being withdrew. Smith was flooded with a profound sense of apology.

He stood there dazed, drained. As if a soothing balm had been applied over a bleeding wound. Gradually he shifted his refocused gaze to the Robinsons, who were all staring at him in concern. Though his subjective mind felt as if an hour had passed, the logical part of him realized it couldn't have been more than a minute at most.

He glanced at the far end of the beltway and saw the walkways merging back into the slower lanes. Something odd about the overhead signs caught his attention and he saw, with momentary shock, that he could understand two of the five lines written up there. Both said, "Welcome Center."

_I presume you are assisting me with comprehension of the languages?_ he inquired of the being still attached to this throat and forehead by cool, gossamer tentacles.

_Yes, as long as we are attached, you can understand what I know and I am able to understand you and your companions. What you see or hear, I also know. For now._

_Are you saying that once our connection is broken, we can no longer communicate?_ For some reason he couldn't comprehend, this thought saddened Smith.

Another flood of sympathy rolled through his brain. _Yes. Unless we rejoin physically_, the alien explained. _I too have enjoyed this unexpected encounter. I apologize once more for scaring you. Perhaps we will meet again during my stay here._

Just as Smith felt the link about to be broken he called out, vocally, "Wait, I don't even know your name!"

_It is..._ and the co mingled sight and sound of dazzling sunlight sparkling among crashing waves against some primeval beach filled the Doctor's thoughts. He unconsciously found himself trying to repeat it, to ingrain it in his memory.

A burst of joyous, almost human laughter flashed back at him. Infectious it was. Smith didn't understand the humor, but felt his lips curl upward just the same.

_What?_ he asked, allowing the smile to be reflected in his mind.

_Really, Dr. Smith, I do appreciate your attempt to say my 'name,' but I must confess that hearing a land bound, fur covered humanoid saying intimate things was really quite funny!_

_I didn't mean..._

He felt his face grow hot, and he realized he was blushing. That in itself was something he hadn't experienced in quite a while, and his face reddened more.

More soothing sensations consoled him without words. _Don't worry, Doctor. My kind are gentle and non aggressive. We don't take offense easily. I see from your memories that we most resembled the cephalopods from your oceans. I suppose that for ease of communication, and to prevent you from make more ...suggestive...comments, you can call me "Ceph."_

And with that parting thought, the being gently unwound its tentacles from Smith's head with a feathery caress against his cheek, and became airborne once more.

Being fairly small and not too strong, its fluttering attempts to keep up failed, and it fell behind the group.

Smith's mind was still recovering from the encounter when he felt a warm touch against the palm of his hand. Will looked questioningly at him, and when he was certain no one else saw it, he gave the boy's hand a reassuring squeeze.

Almost immediately the questions began. "What was that thing? What was it doing to you? Are you okay?"

Smith felt reassured that this latter question was repeated several times. It made him feel wanted and cared about, but he wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of telling them that. He enjoyed being contrary on occasion. Lots of occasions, to be more precise. And this was one of those times. Besides, he enjoyed knowing something very important that none of them knew. And making them wait for explanations suddenly appealed to him.

"Professor," he started out by pointing overhead. "I do believe this is our stop."

"How do you know?" Don cut in, apparently torn between worry and consternation.

"Can't you READ, Major? It says 'Welcome Center'. I do believe that was our desired destination, wasn't it?"

Don's eyes locked on the sign and narrowed as if he were trying to force the strange symbols to speak to him too. Still slit eyed, he glared hotly at Smith and repeated his question.

"Having difficulty reading? Goodness, school standards must have dropped when you were a teenager. I didn't think they allowed illiterate juveniles to attend college."

A solid fist drew up in front of Smith's face. "Why, you pompous ..."

"Don!" John barked. Inwardly he gave a bewildered shake of his head. He could never quite figure out why these two loved taunting each other so much. It was a game, to be sure, but one of these days Smith was going to come out the loser, at least in the physical sense.

In his most placating tone, Robinson continued, "Please, Doctor. Why don't you enlighten us? I'd like to know what's just gone on too, and how you can suddenly understand the signs."

"Quite simple, Professor," Smith began, in one of his haughtiest tones, the one designed to taunt his listeners. But something within him suddenly got tired of the "game". What passed between him and the little "cephalopod" went beyond description, even for his vast vocabulary. So he decided to skirt around the event as much as possible.

"It was some sort of mind link, visual — and empathic — most definitely empathic." Unconsciously he stroked his temple with one long finger. "Suffice it to say that during that connection I was able to understand what he...she...IT did." Smith paused again, as he unconsciously began to replay the experiences and sensations of being totally and utterly bonded to another being. To know its thoughts and feelings as if they were his own. And to know his own joys and pains were seen and yet accepted unconditionally.

"I wish I could be more helpful, but once contact was severed I lost the ability to fathom meaning of the symbols." He gestured just above them as they finally reached the end of their lengthy journey. "I only managed to translate these signs, plus one earlier that identified more docking berths. Beyond that, I'm afraid I can be of no help."

From nearby a male voice muttered, "So what else is new?"

"Major, I warn you!" Smith leaned in toward his antagonist, knowing that someone would step in thereby saving both his pride and his posterior.

Help came from an unexpected source. Judy gasped with awe and shouted, "Look!"

All heads turned to look at the enormous attached doorway. An enormous door, gleaming, dark granite colored was partly open on each side. They could see that the half moon side would have neatly nestled inside its concave counterpart on the opposite side had the door been shut. Its design implied a high level of impenetrability.

"Wow! Dad! Look how thick those doors are," Will exclaimed in awe.

John smiled broadly. "Probably to separate the docks from the rest of the ship in case of an accident or explosion or contamination."

"Makes sense to me," Will agreed with a shrug, sorry that he'd been too startled to think of that himself.

The last thirty yards ended rapidly, and they walked casually through the yawning opening as if they'd been there before. After that it became guesswork again.

"I suggest we follow the crowd," Smith supplied, pointing to the larger number of beings heading off toward a distant multi level tower. The lowest level had many aliens lined up, presumably waiting their turn.

"Brilliant!" West goaded mockingly.

"Too true!" shot back Smith smugly.

"Enough already!" the elder Robinson shouted in exasperation, and immediately put the bickering behind him.

Hoping the gathering at the tower was to accomplish registration, John signaled his family to follow them. It took them about twenty minutes Earth time to actually get someone's attention behind the enormous counter.

"]{*i:", the hulking slug drawled through a slimy maw.

"I'm afraid I don't understand," Robinson said calmly, not wanting to risk offending the creature by an inadvertently rough tone of voice.

"q'%,' rl'p," it responded wetly, and bent under the deep counter. When it resurfaced it had several tiny pebbles in its glistening limbs. John removed one of the pebbles offered and looked at it. Aside from its uniform, polished shape it still looked like a very small rock.

Their "host" removed another one with a free limb and cautiously reached out to Robinson. The leader of the Jupiter 2 stood completely still, guarded and alert for any defensive action. Carefully, the creature put the pebble alongside Robinson's ear and gently inserted it into his auditory canal. Instantly he heard the ebb and flow of sounds around him take shape and clarity. The meaningless gibbering became clear words...

"What do you mean, you can't find my reservation?"

"I need to pay for another diurnal period. Can I keep my lodgings the same?"

"Can you believe it? The Gaelorian Gem! We actually made it!"

"I'm going to do nothing but sleep, gained 400 pounds, gamble away my life savings, and find myself a mate. But not necessarily in that order!"

A warbling noise followed that comment. Apparently the interpreting device didn't bother to translate what John assumed was laughter. He couldn't tell which of the speakers had made the comment, but at that point it didn't matter. The front desk clerk, for lack of a better term, was asking a question.

"Do you have reservations, gentle being?"

"No, I'm afraid not. We stumbled upon you ... beautiful vessel by accident. But we are all sorely in need of a place to stretch our legs."

"Understood. That will be 375 cryl'nas a night and includes early meal plus unlimited use of the public facilities except for the entertainment clubs and the holo adventures. There is a nominal charge for the latter, and each club stipulates the entrance fee so it varies."

"Thank you," John replied. "But I'm afraid I have no idea what a cryl'na is."

The creature's head jerked back. "Ach! You have been out there awhile, haven't you?" He, for the translator voice was clearly masculine, quivered momentarily. "It's our currency. Common to all planets within this region of space. They switched over to common currency about two Gaelorian years ago. But no matter. If you don't have that we can take other forms of currency. What do you have?"

John had the distinct feeling this transaction was going to be very costly. "I have a nice supply of deutronium for trade. I understand that is a form of 'currency' accepted anywhere."

"That is an accurate statement, gentle being. Let's see what you brought."

When John turned to Maureen, he pointed at a pouch she had slung over her shoulder. From it she extracted a single gray canister and handed it to her husband with a look of expectancy.

The large slug scooped the container out of Robinson's hand, poured the contents onto a red tray, and "fingered" the individual crystals. "Pity they are so unrefined," their host observed. "Won't be worth much."

"We're already aware of that," Robinson replied. "But we've got a bit more of it than we need at the moment and I was hoping that could barter it for a night or two in here."

"Not a chance! But if you've been traveling for as long as you've implied, I may be able to arrange something."

For a moment John was grateful the others hadn't gotten the translators yet. He could already imagine Smith shouting, "We'll take whatever you have!" long before the main would have counted the cost.

"All right, I'm listening."

"Many of the berths in your bay are occupied by patrons who wanted a budget vacation and are residing on board their own vessels for their stay here. Such an arrangement would suffice for you as well."

The alien's rubbery appendages twitched, and its dorsal row of spots changed from a dark brown to a bright shade of orange as it spoke. "Three canisters would get you two diurnal periods here, provided, as I've outlined, that you kept your lodging within your own vessel. You could then have free run of the Gaelorian Gem's many entertainment, sporting and shopping centers. And you can, if you wish, trade in a fourth canister to provide all your meals for the two periods."

"Well, it wasn't exactly what we'd hoped for," John responded, "but given the circumstances we are grateful to you for your understanding and generosity." He scooped the remaining translators from the table surface and handed them out to his family, West and Smith.

Turning back to the desk clerk, he added, "I'll be back in about thirty minutes with the remaining canisters."

"Oh, gentle being, one more thing. Can your respiratory systems tolerate anything but the standard oxygen levels currently in here?"

"Not very well, though we can survive in slightly lower oxygen atmospheres. Or slightly higher."

"Then you must keep from all areas marked with this symbol." One limb tapped a colored button on the counter and a holographic image flashed up on a column of pale light. It showed a long red spiral on a black background. "If you enter one of these areas, the environment will most likely be hazardous to you. Most of the methane, chlorine or ammonia breathers are sequestered in their own private part of the ship so you shouldn't have to worry much about stumbling upon them by accident, but I'd still keep a watchful eye."

"Thank you," Robin replied, then signaled for his party of fellow travelers to follow him.

As the Professor explained the "deal", Smith's eyes were drawn to the whole array of life forms strolling around the central lobby. Overhead he saw first one "Ceph" then several more. They were lazily floating about fifteen feet above the floor, tentacles waving and mingling slowly as if stirred by some gentle breeze. Every now and then their translucent domed heads would balloon up and then deflate, but they didn't seem to require much motion to stay airborne. Internal organs of pale blues, greens and mauves changed shades, but the Doctor couldn't quite figure out if that was a form of communication, a visual display of emotion, or simply some ordinary biological process.

A small part of him still felt the loneliness of separation, and he sent out a mental call in hopes that Ceph would somehow contact him back. Still, he wasn't surprised by the ensuing silence. After all, Ceph had admitted that the break in contact would be complete without the tactile bridge between them. Smith heaved a heavy sigh and tagged along after the departing Jupiter 2 crew members.

For obvious reasons, the trip back to Jupiter 2 seemed to go much more quickly. John fetched three more canisters of Deutronium and disappeared for awhile, presumably to pay the "bill".

Will and Penny were already planning their itinerary without ever having found out what was actually there. The Robot, joyously anticipating exploring the place himself, talked about scheduling a complete overhaul for himself by a professional.

"You ignominious ingrate!" Smith snarled, from the depths of his darkened cabin. "And after I have worked my fingers to the bone just to keep you operating in tip top form!"

"A falsehood, Dr. Smith. If it weren't for Will's kind ministrations I would have fallen apart long ago."

"Are you calling me a liar? How dare you, sir! Why, I should..." shouted the doctor, even as he stalked toward the mechanical man, his right forefinger already wagging furiously.

"I call 'em like I see 'em," the Robot cut in. His bubble popped up to its fullest extension which, to Will, seemed to be a challenge.

The boy rolled his eyes, and hid a grin. Much as he hated to admit it, the enjoyed the Abbott and Costello type antics that his two closest friends seemed to revel in performing.

To Will's surprise, Smith bit off his insulting reply. The older man dropped the offending finger, strolled up to the round form of the Robot, and draped an arm around the Robot's metallic "shoulders". "Now, now, my bosom buddy. Let's cease this senseless castigation."

The Robot swiveled and turned his sensors full on Smith. "What are you up to?" he asked unhesitatingly.

Smith forced a mournful tone to creep into his voice. "How could you say such a thing to your good friend and benefactor? I have loved you like a son and this is the thanks I get, endless and spurious accusations."

The Robot made a retching noise and headed for the bathroom.

Uncharacteristically, Smith let out a loud guffaw. _Score two points to me,_ he laughed to himself with glee. _Think of it, Zachary. You've made the most amazing contact with a totally alien species, you've got yourself an all expenses paid two day excursion on a luxury liner... even if you are traveling 10th class...and you've beaten the Robot at his own game. Can life get any sweeter than this?_

_ Yes,_ came the well rehearsed reply. _You could be luxuriating in your own king size bed on Earth, surrounded by silk and priceless works of art, your gourmet kitchen and your Mitsubishi 3000SX._

_ Shut up!_ he ordered that voice. _You couldn't enjoy any of that from a jail cell!_ and he heard the offending intruder blow up like a broken balloon.

The girls, giggling loudly, dashed past Smith and headed up to the bridge. They returned, joined by their father and Don. Maureen took her husband's hand and led him toward the steps. Everyone, in very high spirits, joined them. Everyone except for the Robot.

"I know, I know," he told Robinson. "Guard duty."

Once back at the main Lobby, John and the rest once again approached the desk and were given a flat, prismatic band with a small, thin box on one side. "These are your credit bands. You can use these to pay for your meals. Once of those canisters had a slightly purer deposit of deutronium in it and I was able to apply that difference to your credit account. You can use some of the credit in our stores or special centers if you desire. I've split the credits equally to prevent spending arguments...with your permission, of course."

"That sounds fair to me," John answered, knowing that he had more deutronium for trade if there was something they felt was particularly useful...such as star charts.

John was then given several sheets of bluish colored paper which clearly was a map. The clerk had gone so far as to translate the map into recognizable symbols. "Thanks!" John waved at the large slug as he turned to survey the area before them in more detail.

Situated around the enormous lobby were various small amphitheaters. Holo projections stretched up from cylindrical devices set in the middle of the amphitheater. The three dimensional, crystal clear images showed a number of species and seemed to present informational programs.

The room was octagonal in shape, and each wall had a portal. According to the map, two of the opposing portals were toward the landing bays. The other six passageways led to various parts of the ship.

"I'm going SHOPPING!" Penny and Judy piped up in unison.

Maureen smiled indulgently, and gave John's hand a pull. It was her way of trying to say she wanted to keep an eye on them for a little while.

"Think they'll have technical gadgets there?" Will asked, even though he really wanted to find out if there was a pool or game room. As far as he was concerned, the electronic stuff could wait for the time being.

Don didn't particularly care where he went as long as Judy was nearby.

"I do believe I shall meander around for a little while," Smith stated pleasantly.

"Maybe you should stay by us," John said, somewhat forcefully. Letting the doctor out of his sight was bound to bring trouble and he knew it.

"I'm fully capable of being on my own, thank you!" was the acerbic reply. But when he saw that this argument did no good, Smith added, "I promise you — no mishaps."

"There had better not be," warned Robinson, in a tone he usually reserved for his son after the boy had willfuly disobeyed him.

While the rest of the crew wandered from one intriguing shop to another, Dr. Smith headed for the section that was identified as the Palace of Lucky Breaks. Once there it quickly became obvious that his assumptions were correct. This was indeed their version of a casino.

Smith casually ambled from table to board to wheels to something that looked like a pinball machine, though many aliens swarmed around waving credit vouchers or colored tokens, and occasionally some other form of bartering currency. There were card games in plenty, but much to Smith's chagrin there was nothing recognizable. He pondered his previous gambling skills and ability to learn new games rapidly. As long as he didn't get greedy, he was a sure winner. But once the smell of quick riches got its heady scent in his nostrils, he went in for the "kill" and began playing recklessly. One nice thing about the work at Alpha Control was that the demanding, time consuming nature of the task kept him focused on his job rather than on his own personal pleasures.

But now there was nothing holding him back. He absentmindedly patted his pack where he'd secreted a few nice looking gems, hoping they'd be worth something here.

Observing the various games carefully he tried to fathom the rules. And sadly realized he was a bankruptcy waiting to happen. Even if the others didn't cheat, he'd have no way of knowing the many special moves that produced a "winner".

Smith's desire to play warred with his genuine concern about dragging the Robinsons, who had placed far too much trust in him already, down with him if he lost in a big way. Some part of his mind warmed at the way those strangers had welcomed him like family despite all the terrible things he'd done to them, things so awful he wanted to blot them from his memory forever.

Three years with them, he reminded himself. And three years separated from his compulsion to gamble, aside from the one blasted incident with Jeremiah who had stacked the deck before they ever began. Par for the course. Jeremiah never could win honestly, which was one reason why the casinos on Earth were always booting him out. And then there was his flawed plan to trick Cosmonium away from that miner, Mr. Nerum. His own stupidity, he admitted reluctantly. He had been too self assured, too certain of his skills, and too foolish to realize that the game chosen wouldn't have been one from Earth.

Nothing looked promising, so he meandered around the players and headed out to several of the smaller rooms where more isolated games were being played. One room had a locked door and one of the those warning signs posted outside. Another was too crowded by cheering observers. The third had a small, intense group, playing something that played like the traditional Earth game of Spit.

_ It certainly seems easy enough,_ he pondered quietly. His fingers twirled two round gems in his pocket as if they were "Chinese worry balls".

His pulse began to pound, he could feel it in the hollow of his throat. Sweat broke out on his upper lip, and he licked it away with a quick, surreptitious dart of his tongue. Just as he was about to give in to temptation, he felt a butterfly touch on his brow and a cresting wave of inner peace drained away the compulsion to move. The soothing balm took away that pain and many others, like a powerful narcotic without any of the nasty side effects.

This time he didn't panic or scream. The contact was instant and complete in less than a single heartbeat. Smith opened his mind, straining for the total rejoining that had brought so much pleasure once before. Wave upon wave of sensations bombarded the deepest reaches of his consciousness. Images flowed in increasingly comprehensible patterns.

Had someone tried to ask him to describe the experience, he could only have said "Mystical ... magical."

_Greeting, Ceph. I'm glad to have you visit me again._

_I know_, came the honest reply. _I too am glad to 'see' you again. It would appear that I have arrived just in time to stop you from doing something you might have regretted later._

_Yeah, well, we all have our weaknesses and this one is mine._ Smith winced at how the words flowed so easily out of him. In his own mind he'd answered this stranger as if he were a teenager to his sister or his closest friend. No pretenses, words only a collegian would understand, or bad attitudes. Ceph sent a non verbal question at Smith's consternation. The doctor tried to keep his guard up, but the alien surfed through a horde of his childhood memories before he could set up suitable barriers.

Ceph explored Earth through a youngsters' view of life. The rancid stench of filthy streets, the hot sweltering New York City nights, the accent that took him years to get rid of, the years of stealing just to stay alive because his mother was too stoned to care properly for him. Images of the man who constantly beat her to a pulp and then, rage not fully vented, would come after him. More memories of him nearly getting caught while stealing food for his baby sister, and the long chase through dark, squalid alleys. Rats under the sink and roaches on the walls were his constant companions. The promises he made to himself, to never let Zachary Smith grow up poor and ignorant and a victim of human predators bigger, stronger, and meaner than himself.

As the fear and torment of those memories increased to a nearly unendurable level, he felt Ceph's manipulation of his endocrine system, just as on their first meeting, and the now familiar surge of endorphines robbed those memories of their lingering pain.

_I feel your suffering, Dr. Smith. I must apologize once again for intruding where I should not have gone. This is my first contact with humans, and unlike my race, you don't have mental safeguards for limiting what I can explore._

_Forgiven. It's my fault, really. I welcomed your presence and got what I asked for,_ he added ruefully.

_You must leave here,_ Ceph replied without further ado.

_I know. I'm too weak at the moment to gamble with a level head._

Ceph sent a burst of negative emotions at him, and he almost recoiled until he sensed they weren't aimed at him. _Doctor, weakness isn't the issue at hand. These creatures are not known for their honesty. You would have been ... how do you say it in your world?_

_Scammed?_

_They prey on beings such as yourself. That was why I purposely initiated contact without your permission. It was unforgivable, I know, but I didn't want you to be taken advantage of._

Smith felt the little alien's fluttering dome above his head, and the many long, slender tentacles lightly wrapping themselves around his head and throat. He got the mental image of Ceph as a balloon and himself as the string. Then he felt, in his mind, the fluttering sensation that represented laughter.

_Do you mind my intrusion?_ Ceph asked in concern.

_Not a bit. Besides, I am in your debt. Major West and Professor Robinson would have had me drawn and quartered if I'd gambled away the ship again._

At Ceph's suggestion, the duo hastily left the "Palace" and headed for the vessels' "mall". When he grew hungry, Smith suggested stopping at a restaurant, but felt revulsion ripple through the cephalopod.

_Perhaps it's time we went our separate ways. The thought of you humans eating flesh turns my digestive organs into knots._

_ Vegetarian meal instead?_

_ Tempting, but my mate is probably worrying about me already. It would be best if I get back to our quarters._

After perusing the menus for several eating establishments, Smith found one that appealed to his desire to "ambiance." It took awhile for the server to translate the various meals. And then she asked for a sample of his hair. After looking askance at her, he pulled one longer strand free and handed it over. The black clad, multi limbed being inserted it into a slender tube which promptly lit up and began flashing. When the flashing stopped, she scanned some writing that appeared on a screen inserted into the shaft of the device.

"Your genetic scan shows that you can safely metabolize about 40% of the items on the menu." After that, she proceeded to describe each item and recommended some things that omnivorous humanoids seemed to enjoy. "And of course if it isn't to your taste, we will permit one substitution."

"Most generous of you," Smith replied, and was soon enjoying the sumptuous feast set before him.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

Hours later, the Robinsons, West, and a very sated and somnolent Doctor were settling in for the night. After washing up, Smith hastily shrugged off his clothes, yanked on his nightshirt and dropped unceremoniously onto his bed. Within seconds, he was sound asleep. Exhaustion had led to a relatively dreamless night for most of them.

Will tossed and turned as his mind tried to unload all the imagery that had flooded it during the day. He got up once for a drink, but then dropped right back off to sleep.

In the calming deep waters that rocked him in sleep, Dr. Smith was, as teens tended to say, "out of it". When the intruder started crawling up his shirt he didn't feel a blessed thing. It meandered toward his neck and made a beeline for the warm spot beside his throat. Its long hair touched the sensitive skin just above Smith's bared collar bone, and the doctor's mind reached a level of wakefulness.

Reaching up, he tried to scratch the itchy spot and felt something firm and furry rocking beneath his hand. Adrenaline screamed through his body, energizing his brain and vocal cords into shrieking wakefulness. Instantly he tried to swat it away while struggling to his feet.

Voices echoed outside his cabin, and without knocking Professor Robinson jerked open the door. Will was there next, followed by a sleepy eyed but alert Don West. Judy, Penny and Maureen hung back in case of genuine trouble, though secretly all three women figured Smith was having a bad dream.

Dancing around, Smith tried to locate whatever it was that had so rudely intruded on his sleep. He felt his neck and checked his fingers to make sure the beast hadn't sucked his blood while he slept, and was relieved to find nothing but smooth, unbroken skin.

And then he saw it, in the corner of his cabin, a small, round, tricolored creature. "Beware!" he shouted, pointing at it. "It may bite!"

From behind the door, the Robot stated, "Subject creature not hostile to humans."

"How would you know, you overzealous zoologist? The piranha is small but can tear a man to shreds."

"Oh Doctor, really," Penny scoffed, once she realized what was frightening the Doctor. "It must've gotten loose from the cage."

"Cage? Wherever did you pick up that awful monstrosity?"

Penny looked at the Doctor in a manner that showed what she thought of his cowardice in the face of such a puny and inoffensive creature. "From a trader, Dr. Smith. Mom said I could keep it since the man said Tribbles are really inoffensive and harmless. And they are adorable and sweet. Look," she added, holding it out to him. "It even purrs."

Without giving him a chance to refuse, she placed it in his hands. At first he wanted to drop the thing, but didn't want the others mocking him. He'd done similar things for laughs, to be sure. And he liked diverting their attention in order to accomplish some subtle scheme of his own. But this time he had no tricks up his sleeve and was too tired to desire reinforcing the "coward" image. So he simply put his hands out and the little creature wigged its way into his open palm and instantly began purring and twittering loudly.

The sound, so innocent and appealing, drew a half smile to his thin lips. In spite of his initial feelings toward the tribble, he found himself stroking its kitten soft fur. The more he petted it, the more delighted it sounded.

"Penny, child, I confess that this engaging creature is really quite sweet. However, it nearly scared me to death. Kindly make certain your new found pet is secured during the evening hours. I'm sure you can remember to that for your dear Dr. Smith, can't you?"

Maureen sighed with relief that there would be no indignant, long winded orations. Chuckling, she waved Penny and the tribble out of Smith's quarters. Little did she realize that, as always, trouble had found the doctor first.

Early the next morning the crew of the Jupiter 2 went off to find a pleasant and filling breakfast.

By mid morning they came back to find Penny's tribble no longer inside its covered box but rather back on Dr. Smith's bed. The Robinson's middle child fully expected a lecture about responsibility but instead Smith merely stroked it into a purring, chirruping frenzy and brought it back to her. Penny watched his retreating back and marveled at how mellow he had grown recently. Shrugging it off as one of the Doctor's many mood swings, she went to put the tribble back in its box when she heard Will call.

"Penny, get your tribble off my desk."

"Your desk?" she echoed. "But that can't be. I'm holding my tribble right now."

Will poked his head around his accordion fold door and brandished a similar, though clearly smaller, tribble than the one Penny was holding. He ambled over to his sister, placed the wandering critter in her out stretched hand and walked off. But not before saying, "I guess it had a baby last night."

"Better make that two babies," Don called out from the upper deck. On his shoulder was a black and white twittering tribble. It nuzzled his cheek, and Don smiled broadly at the unconditional display of affection.

"Three, four and five," added Judy, holding the small bundle of multi colored animals in her hand.

Penny looked shocked. "Oh now! Mom, how am I going to feed them all? The first one eats an awful lot as it is."

While in their huddle they missed the sudden appearance of Dr. Smith. When Penny turned toward him she found that he had a sixth baby rocking on the very crown of his head. How it got there she didn't dare venture a guess, but Dr. Smith gentle removed it and placed it beside the other. "Six," he stated lately.

"Maybe I can give some of them away," Penny said hopefully. "They are awfully cute, and I'm sure there must be some people who'd want them."

Armed with her box of baby tribble and aided by Judy, will and Dr. Smith, Penny wandered from ship to ship asking anyone who would listen if they wanted to adopt these adorable and inoffensive animals. Finally she managed unload each and every one of them, and returned to the ship ... to find her parents and Don holding at least 20 more tribbles.

"Oh no!" she moaned again.

"They do breed quickly, don't they?" Smith observed, not without a touch of humor.

Maureen gave Penny's shoulder a consoling pat. "I wonder if we shouldn't try to locate that trader who sold you the Tribble and see if he can tell us how to get them to stop reproducing."

"Madam, really! Isn't the solution obvious? Put them in separate containers!"

"Ordinarily that would be true," Robinson replied, without his usual calm. "But these things are reproducing at an incredible rate. I tried separating them as soon as I found them, but there were babies in the container within the hour."

Smith bared his teeth in a mocking grin. "Sounds as if you are implying they are born pregnant!"

"That I am," John replied, half seriously.

The smile instantly vanished from Smith's face. The lines on his forehead deepened. "But that would mean there would be no controlling their population."

"Precisely," Don agreed, absently rubbing one white animal that mewed and twittered with each hand stroke.

John faced Penny, and with a sorrowful tone stated, "I'm sorry, honey, but all of these things have to go. It's not save to have them if we can't control their numbers."

Sadly, Penny nodded. "I know. But can't I still try to find the man who sold it to me? Maybe he can give me some good suggestions. Maybe he knows how to handle the problem."

Torn by the pleading look in his lovely, dark haired daughter's eyes, John acquiesced. "Fine. Give it a try. But please remember that if he has no good answers, then the tribbles have to go."

"I know, Daddy. And thank you!"

Penny and Will got ready to leave. Smith joined them at the base of the ship and gave a cursory glance around the docking area. Aside from the typical ebb and flow of sentient life forms, nothing much had changed. Don arrived a few seconds later. Soon after, Judy arrived, slowly moving down the steps.

"Wow!" was Don's breathless comment. Judy was bedecked in a gown made of the sheerest material, which, despite its light weight, managed to keep from being labelled indecent. It shimmered with her every move, alternately swirling around her or clinging, depending on her movements. Bare arms and a plunging neckline showed off her flawless skin to perfection.

"My dear," Smith stated in a subdued, deep voice, "I do believe you are, without a doubt, the most exquisite woman to have ever walked the decks of this vessel."

Judy stared at Smith for a moment, startled by such unexpected praise. Then she blushed. The compliment sounded much better than a simple "Wow!" that was for certain.

While Don glared at Smith for his audacity, the Doctor warmly stated, "Permit me to be your escort for the day," and extended his elbow in a genteel invitation for her to accompany him.

Why she accepted was beyond her, but she did so nonetheless, looping her hand around his forearm. Bending toward her, he whispered, "Without a doubt every humanoid will envy me, and if it makes the Major jealous, so much the better."

Judy let out a full throated laugh at the doctor's machinations. When she gazed back at Don she saw that one of Smith's predictions was already coming true. "Are you sure you want him that angry at you?" she whispered back.

Chuckling softly, Smith replied, "No, but I'll certainly enjoy myself in the meantime."

The two younger children watched the scene with confusion, but shrugged it off as only children can. As a group they left the docking bay, glided along on the moving walkway, and headed for the area where Penny had last seen the trader.


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

It soon became apparent that finding the Trader wasn't going to be easy. The crowds weren't heavy in the shopping areas, but he wasn't in his previous spot.

"Well, maybe we should just walk around. He might have set up somewhere else," Penny suggested.

"Penny, child. Why would he move his shop on such short notice."

"It's not like that, Dr. Smith. He was selling from a small table over in that corner there. And he had a bunch of small things so I guess it would be easy for him to pack up quickly to find a better spot."

"More likely to disappear in a hurry," Smith muttered, knowing the type only too well. He'd grown up with them in the heart of the City and could smell their "easy some, easy go" attitude a mile away. In fact, Smith wished he'd had a dollar for every time some store front swindler tried to sell him a "real" Rolex "cheap".

Judy and Penny exchanged worried glances, but decided to keep hunting. They walked through the winding corridors bordered by gaily decorated window displays. There were garments of every variety and size (or lack thereof), furs from a thousand different creatures, odd or rare gemstones, music and literature in a wide variety of packaging and formats, from familiar disc style to square multi faced, many colored crystals.

Smith stopped by a shop that displayed hundreds of musical instruments. Intrigued by his interest, Judy continued to cling to his arm and allowed herself to be escorted inside. Like a perfect gentleman, he held the door and gallantly gestured for her to enter. As she glided past him, leaving a trace of perfume in her wake, Will and Penny took the opportunity to follow her. The very second they had entered the establishment, Smith allowed the door to slam on West. Eyes hurling daggers at the Doctor's back, West angrily yanked the door open and suddenly trailed after the rest of his crew.

After fingering many of the stringed instruments, Smith approached what looked like a display of various keyboards. He lovingly caressed the rich light and dark wooden keys of one instrument that clearly resembled a piano. The sales being came over, hopping on four limbs. It settled back on its long, muscular tail, using the appendage as a handy seat. It began to regale him with the characteristics of the musical device, its origin and its price, which at 4,000 cryl'nas, nearly made Judy choke.

Oblivious to her reaction, the doctor lightly depressed some keys, getting the feel for the sound. But they were different notes from the piano which sat in his den. Still, the sight of it made him homesick. The sales being, sensing a problem, inquired about his needs.

"We're from Earth," he explained glumly. "The arrangement of notes on the keyboard is very different from what you have here."

"Easily remedied," the alien responded gaily. "Can you play a scale of the major and minor notes?"

Smith complied, after finding the appropriate keys. The alien then depressed a button on the side of the instrument. A drawer, which reminded Will of a CD ROM drawer slid out, and the alien pushed at some raised buttons. He closed the drawer with a tiny shove of two furry fingers.

"Go ahead," the sales being coaxed, making a sweeping gesture at it.

Hesitantly Smith sat down and quickly ran an octave with one poking finger To his amazement, the instrument now sounded like a Terran piano. With a perfectly straight face he flexed his long fingers, cracked a few knuckles, and with a mighty flourish went into a stirring rendition of "Chop Sticks".

West let out a mocking guffaw and shook his head. _Pompous idiot,_ is what he thought, but refused to say it because Judy was humoring the doctor. Will did laugh aloud, but seemed to be playing along as well.

As soon as Smith finished the short "song," he ran one index finger over the length of the keys, hit a few hesitant notes and immediately launched into a flawless rendition of Chopin's "Minute Waltz in D Flat Major".

The sales being sat awestruck as the beautiful and lively melody rolled out of the instrument. He sensed a sale was in the making and was willing to just sit and enjoy this strange yet pleasing music.

When it was finished, Smith stood up. Allowing the tiniest hint of a smile to break his haughty expression, he stood up to his full height, snapped his fingers under West's nose as if to say "So there!" and pointedly stuck out his elbow for Judy to take it again.

The beautiful blond did so, but only after allowing a rich peal of laughter to roll through her sensuous lips.

"But, but ..." the alien sputtered as the group marched out the door as if they were foreign dignitaries whose audience was at an end.

"Ah, nothing like a stroll down a crowded avenue with a beautiful woman," he stated contentedly, making sure Don heard him. "I suggest we find some establishment for our mid day meal."

Playing along, Judy said, "I'm open to suggestions, Doctor."

"You deserve only the best, my dear. And I have just the place in mind." Strutting like a peacock in all his royal splendor, Smith gracefully skirted pedestrians and kiosks alike.

Before getting to the restaurant, Judy asked if she could look in one store that sold a wide selection of perfumes and cosmetics. Some clearly weren't for humanoids, but she did see a few that seemed attractive. Mentally, she marked this store so she could return to it later, when time allowed.

On her way out, she passed the "impulse buy" racks and selected a pair of gold hoops that were clearly designed for non human ears. Nevertheless she held them up beside her own delicately shaped ear lobes and said, "Well, what do you think?" She hid the smirk that was struggling to break free because she knew full well they looked atrocious.

The younger children tried to suppress a giggle. Don looked like he didn't know what to say. He wasn't going to win today no matter what he did, and he knew it.

After a moment's appraisal, Smith purred, "Those trashy baubles don't hold a candle to your loveliness. Only the rarest gems and purest gold should grace your perfect countenance."

Over his shoulder, Judy saw Don look as if he wanted to lose his breakfast. Struggling to appear flattered, which wasn't too hard even though the words were coming from Smith, she suppressed another grin. And then she caught the Doctor's blue eyes. There was laughter in them. He winked and then arched on eyebrow, beseeching her to play along.

"Oh, Doctor ... Um, may I call you Zachary? Tell me more," she purred. "It isn't often I get to hear compliments, especially such eloquent ones."

Looping her arm through his, she gave his lower biceps a playful squeeze and led him out of the shop. Will shrugged at Penny, who promptly shrugged back. "Grown ups!" the boy finally muttered, with a wry toss of his head.

"Boy, you said it!" Penny agreed as she followed the group.

Arms crossed, West stewed in his anger for a few seconds then trudged after the disappearing back of his comrades.

They hadn't gone much further when Penny yelled, "That's him!" and dashed down a side corridor where a few small shops were arranged in a cul de sac.

The man she ran to looked startled, stood up and appeared ready to bolt until he realized it was a young girl dashing his way and not one of those blasted security officers. True, he had a permit to be there, but they still delighted in harassing him every chance they got. Besides, some of the things he occasionally passed along to willing customers weren't always registered or approved items, so he needed to be careful.

"Greetings, my young friend!" he called out when he recognized her. "How can I be of assistance?"

He followed up his words with a broad smile, and tucked his thumbs in his broad belt. Then he spotted the group trailing in her wake. The smile vanished like a wisp of smoke carried away in a stiff breeze.

Pausing to catch her breath, Penny said, "It's the tribbles, sir."

"Tribbles? I thought I only sold you ONE tribble."

"That's right; you did. But he, I mean, she — Well, it had an awful lot of babies."

The rest of the group joined them and stood off to one side, though clearly within earshot. Smith stared at the man long and hard. A funny, fuzzy feeling at the back of his skull kept whispering that this man looked very familiar. He recognized the gravelly voice ... from somewhere. And then there was that face and rotund form.

The man was dressed in a bright silver tunic and pantaloons. And Smith focused on him again, thinking ... that the man would have looked better in ... orange? He almost snorted aloud, wondering why this corpulent, rough throated humanoid should make him think of the color orange.

Well, no matter, he told himself. "Sir, allow me to introduce myself. I am Dr. Zachary Smith. And I am the child's — well, let's just say that I'm her guardian, shall we? And we have sought you for the purpose of ascertaining the best method for curtailing the breeding proclivities of that little creature you sold her."

"Breed that fast, do they?" he asked innocently.

Don and the others were perhaps fooled, but not Smith. He knew that shifty look. Had put it to some good use himself on occasion, especially when he was caught with his hand "in the cookie jar".

"That, my good fellow, is an understatement. We merely wish to find out if you'd like a few of them back — think of the profit you could make on their resale — in exchange for suggestions on how to curb their reproductive processes."

The man stood up to his tallest height, which wasn't all that impressive to begin with, and stated, "Never let it be said that Cyrano Jones won't try to satisfy his customers."

He leaned in toward the grown ups and whispered, "To be honest, I got them off another trader only two days ago myself and I've got ... more than I need ... right now. I have absolutely no idea how to keep the little critters from making babies. As you've probably noticed, they eat just about anything vegetable in nature, and about the only thing I can suggest is that you stop feeding them and see if that helps."

"But they'll starve!" Penny blurted out in alarm.

"That is a possibility," Trader Jones answered sadly. "I haven't tried that method on mine yet but I may have to pretty soon or I'll have so many I won't be able to lift off." He ended his comments with a rasping laugh.

"I don't know if we should take that warning seriously or not," West murmured to Judy, who gave him an odd look. The thought of starving the creatures to death didn't appeal to her one bit, and their suffering was the only thing on her mind right then.

"Should we try separating them first?" she asked hopefully.

Jones shrugged one heavy shoulder. "Couldn't hurt."

Grateful for the opportunity to assume the leadership role, Don guided the group away. When he was finally out of earshot of the trader, he stated, "Let's head back right away and discuss this with your parents. I suggest we try getting rid of a few more by giving them to the other visitors and try separating those we can't pawn off."

Amidst the hustle and bustle of the crowded walkways were seen a few beings cradling furry little animals in their limbs. When the Jupiter 2 got back to their berth they were approached by at least ten different alien children trying to give away the "most beautiful little pets.". They all had held twittering, chirping tribbles in an array of colors. Evidently there hadn't been many "takers".

"I can see that competition to unload our unwanted guests will be stiff," Smith observed.

Hastily they climbed the steps into Jupiter 2. Tribbles, in a small groups, were everywhere. In the middle of the deck were several large supply boxes, now emptied of their contents and housing about 50 tribbles each.

Striding up to them with a worried look on her face, Maureen asked hopefully, "well, did you learn anything useful?"

"Not really. The trader told us to stop feeding them and to keep them separated," Penny informed her.

"So far we've tried both," their mother answered, in an uncharacteristically frustrated tone, "and it obviously isn't working at all."

As they were speaking, John came down the lift. He carried an arm load of wriggling fur. "Darling," he said soothingly to his youngest daughter, "I know you wanted a pet, but these things have got to go. All of them. Believe me, no one is sorrier than I am to break the news to you, but I want you to take them off our ship."

Penny looked close to tears. "But what am I to do with them, Daddy? The trader won't take them back, and it looks like everyone I gave the first litter to now has too many also. They are already giving them away..."

"Unsuccessfully, I might add," Smith chimed in, enjoying the fact that this was one dilemma he couldn't be blamed for.

"It's all right, honey," John consoled her gently. "Just take these outside for the time being. I've poked air holes in the boxes, and we can seal them up and put them outside until we can figure out what to do with them."

"Okay, Daddy. I'll do it."

Rather than go back out to the main part of the vessel for dinner, they had a light repast in their galley, and all of them, even Dr. Smith, went on a tribble hunt, trying to collect all they could.

By bedtime the ever hungry tribbles they had missed came out of hiding and were beginning to clutter up the deck again. Locking up the ship tight, John gave orders for any wandering tribbles to be tossed into a large container until morning.

When Don got up for a midnight drink of water, he found the whole galley covered in rocking, purring patches of fur. Judy heard his groan and came out to investigate. She gasped at the sight of the mobile mass of hair and shuddered. The tribbles on the consoles, covering the seats, on top of equipment, scattered in large patches on the deck, crowded around the doors to the cabins. In short, tribbles were everywhere.

"Oh, Don, what are we going to do with them?" she asked in horror.

"Tomorrow? I don't know. But I can tell you what I plan to do with them right now!"


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

The Robinson's dreams that night were sometimes serious, sometimes dark, often disturbed. The problem concerning their unexpected guests had clearly plagued everyone, especially Penny, who blamed herself for their ordeal. She tossed over and over. A sharp squeal startled her to wakefulness. Groaning in dismay, she plucked the tribble who had crawled beneath her free from the covers and lightly placed it on the floor.

A few cabins over, Dr. Smith was also dreaming, but his dream of sipping sherry beside his large stone fireplace was far more pleasant. He reclined back into the expensive leather sofa, hearing a pleasing creak as he shifted. There was a heavily decorated Christmas tree in the corner, a hand embroidered tree skirt gaily stretched out from beneath the pine scented branches. Packages of many sizes and shapes were nestled on the skirt. From the next room he heard the child like giggle of his young nephew, who was using the circular access around the rooms to play hide and seek with his younger sister.

She was crawling and chortling happily, thinking the game of tag was hilarious. Smith smiled broadly as he watched them play. When the little one drifted into view she became entranced by the dancing flames, and began to wander over there. Patiently he scooped her up and, turning her around, sent the child off in the opposite direction. Sighing contentedly, he sat down again.

Dark curls swirled around her head as she realized she'd been duped. Like any obstinate and curious 10 month old, she reversed gears and headed back to the jumping light.

"No, no, sweetheart," he told her softly, but with a hint of firmness. "Hot!"

The child looked at him with perplexed eyes, and smiled innocently. Her brother came in to find out why she wasn't still playing the game, and crawled into Smith's lap. Obligingly Smith gave the youngster a hug. Meanwhile, his eyes sought out the little girl who had started playing with a smooth African carving she'd removed from an end table. It was rare and expensive, but he could deny her nothing. Well, almost nothing. He drew the line at potentially dangerous situations.

"When's Momma and Daddy coming home?" the boy inquired.

"I would assume pretty soon. They said the reception would end around six."

With that he gave his nephew another prolonged embrace, enjoying the unconditional love and acceptance he felt surround him. It was at moments like these he wished he could have found someone to share his life with. But it wasn't easy to trust. Too many women's eyes looked at him with blatant disinterest — that is, until he told them he was a doctor. And, oh yes, how they suddenly turned friendly. So he'd wine and dine them anyway, have a good time as long as he could keep things non romantic, and then just stop calling. Sadly, he hugged the boy tighter.

Satisfied with all the attention, the boy crawled off his lap and disappeared into the huge kitchen again. Smith's niece, the soon to be toddler, grasped the mahogany and glass coffee table and began to stagger along its length. At the end she took two hesitant steps and plopped onto her bottom with a crackle of plastic diapers.

Soon she began to crawl over to the orange and red tongues of flame. She was quicker this time, and Smith had to bolt off the sofa. He scooped her up again, and this time carried her with him to the couch. At first she struggled briefly in his tight embrace, squiggling to worm her way back to the floor, but her uncle was quite adamant about hanging on. A few grunts and whimpers of displeasure didn't dissuade him, so she settle down to wait him out.

Smith placed his cheek against the tousled silky curls, enjoying how they tickled his skin.

"Uncle Zach, I'm getting cold," the boy called.

Standing up he laid the baby on the floor and went to add a few more pieces of wood to the fire. It blazed up warmly. A bit too warmly, he thought. The temperature began to grow. He was definitely getting too warm now, and wondered why the fire should be burning so hotly. Sweat began to bead on his forehead and down his back. _Too hot_! his mind startled to yell. Instantly his thoughts turned toward protecting the children. Panic began to set in, though he didn't know why. He began to experience a sense of claustrophobia. He looked for his niece and nephew, but couldn't see them anywhere.

In the kitchen were the sounds of birds chirping. The sound grew louder and louder, nearly driving him mad. Smith's eyes, filled with worry for the children and fear of the unknown intruders, popped open wide. And immediately noticed the familiar ceiling of his cabin on the Jupiter 2.

_ A dream!_ his mind yelled in relief.

Then an important fact registered in his still befuddled mind. He was still boiling hot, soaked with sweat. And the noxious noise of birds chirping and cheeping hadn't faded. Now they were mixed with loud and equally odious purring. He felt "things" moving around his face and head. Furry things. When he shifted slightly he felt the weight of many more sliding down his body.

Bolting upright, he suppressed a gasp as he found that he had been covered, head to toe, in a thick tribble quilt. _Worse than wearing a fur covered cocoon to bed,_ he grumbled, struggling to get out from under them.

A quick glance around the room showed nary a tribble anywhere but near or on top of him. In a great pile, they swamped his body and bordered his bed.

From outside his door was a stifled masculine chortle. Smith scowled mightily. _So they want to play games with him, do they_? he thought. Then he remembered instigating the Major's ire by escorting Judy around the mall, _Okay,_ he admitted, _I deserve this one_, and was forced to clamp a hand over his mouth to keep from chuckling aloud. It was pretty humorous, now that he thought of it. At least it was the kind of payback he preferred to receive if he had no choice ... the harmless variety.

But he couldn't let it pass. The individual or individuals outside were probably waiting for some response, or would provoke one if he tarried too long. Some small part of him spoke a kindly reminder that these people were the only "family" he now had left.

_ Let them have their fun,_ he thought. _Even if it's at my expense._. So he made a hasty decision and took one mighty breath. The effeminate shriek that emanated from the cabin not only startled the pranksters but woke every Robinson within earshot, and most of the aliens for ten ships around.

Jerking open his cabin door — and being extremely cautious not to trod on any unfortunate tribble — Smith hurtled out into the main deck area, wild eyed, hair spiking in every direction, looking for all the world like a terrified lunatic. "Save me!" he yelled, letting another blood curdling scream rip past his lips. "They're after me!"

"Who, Doctor?" West asked, trying, mostly unsuccessfully, to hid a grin.

Noticing it, Smith redoubled his efforts. "Those fearsome furballs, that's who!" He cast terrified eyes on the Professor. "They tried to eat me, I tell you. I was sleeping — quite peacefully, I might add — and awoke to find them swarming all over me."

While he spoke he glanced around to find the deck mostly empty of tribbles. Now sure that they'd been collected specifically just for him, he renewed his descriptions of the horrible things those monsters would have done to his person if he'd not awakened at just the right moment.

As the lurid details escalated, West lost it and began to laugh quite loudly.

Smith mentally worked himself up. Pointing one long, trembling index finger at West, he growled, "How DARE you, sir! Iniquity! Cruelty! You nearly scared me out of ten years' life, and all because of some petty jealousy."

That got West scowling. Cleverly, Smith changed his tactics. Bowing his head, he worked up a pained, tearful expression, and used his sleeve to dab at dry eyes. "Oh sadness, oh sorry. To think that my bosom companion would do such a cruel thing to dear, kindly Dr. Smith. I fear I shall never be the same again. Never!"

Though he knew the Robinsons had heard it all before, he pushed the scene for all it worth, and was rewarded to see John and Maureen scowling at West as if he were some rudely mischievous boy. Once more he suppressed a chuckle by painfully biting his lower lip.

For a moment, West seemed to shrink into the background. This was back firing in ways he'd never expected. Beside him, Judy looked uncomfortable.

Rounding on her, he gave her his most piteous look. "Judy. My dear, sweet Judy. Please tell me you didn't encourage this neolithic Neanderthal in his perfidy."

"Oh, Dr. Smith, I'm really sorry. It's just that he was so set on playing the joke that I didn't think I could stop him."

"The question is, would you have attempted to if you could?"

Judy looked closely, VERY closely at his eyes and noticed the hint of laughter there. He was playing them all like a finely tuned instrument, she realized. For the first time since their lot had all been cast together, Judy looked at Smith in a new light. And liked what she saw just the same. But she couldn't very well betray Don either.

"I don't know," she responded. "Honestly, I don't."

Forcing his back ramrod straight, Smith sputtered, "Collusion with this misanthropic miscreant? Judy, really!" He glanced back into his stateroom, then back at West. "And YOU! I'd better find every single one of those furballs removed from my quarters first things in the morning."

He instantly dropped the imperious tone and sighed. "I will never recover from this ..." For added, effect, he massaged his lower back. "And to make matters worse, my back is now a disaster area."

With a sad shake of his head, he rounded his shoulders to make it appear as if the weight of the world was on them, and plodded back into his room. With his most pathetic, hang dog look he turned, eyed them all a second, and quietly slid the door closed.

From outside the door, he heard Will state, "Gosh, Don, that wasn't a very nice thing to do."

And ...

"For heaven's sake, Don, what go into you?"

Smith strode to his bed, still careful of the furry balls on the floor. As soon as he could, he snatched up a pillow, smashed his face into it to smother any noises and, shoulders bobbing, laughed until he couldn't laugh anymore. _Score one for the Doctor_, his mind giggled triumphantly.

Finally he took a few deep, cleansing breaths. One half giggle squelched through, sounding more like a stifled sneeze. "Achoo!" he yelled.

"Bless you," came a few responses.

Heaving a hearty sigh of contentment, Smith prepared to re enter his bed. Unfortunately the tribbles seemed to like it even more than he did. The piles he'd knocked down had returned to their previous place of repose.

Ever so gently he picked them up, one by one, off his bed and placed them softly on the deck. Most purred as he scooped them up. One orange tribble, which reminded him of his marmalade tabby cat, trilled louder than the rest. He brought its kitten silk to his face, rubbing it against his cheek as it seemed to purr its contentment.

Genuinely tired, he drowsily stroked it a few times then gingerly lowered it to the pile on the floor. Making a hasty survey of the bed, he sank down onto it and flopped back onto his pillow. Something scolded him loudly. Hopping back up, he located the intruder just under his pillow. He removed it, set it on the deck, and with a gentle patting nudge on the backside, sent it back to its companions strewn on the deck.

Once more Smith awoke to noises of distress, but this time they weren't his own.

"My Lord," Maureen was exclaiming. "What will we do now?"

Intrigued, but not wanting to show it, Smith slowly unwound himself from the covers dotted with islands of fur, and slid back his door. The gasp that escaped his lips was real this time. The small molehill of tribbles had earthquaked into a huge mountain. He saw the children walking around in an odd, sliding gait to keep from stepping on anything that chirped, trilled, purred or warbled.

He could see that the galley had an equally large mountain. It was also evident from the plate Maureen held that the tribbles had gotten into their food supplies. The girls looked close to panic. Will's expression flashed from concern to laughter and back again. Professor Robinson looked like a victim of shell shock. If he'd any plans on how to handle the little creatures, it was evident they'd gone up in smoke overnight.

Major West, ever the fighter, growled, "I say bulldoze the things outside. I mean, they are cute and all that, but enough is enough. Let's ship 'em all outside and let things sort themselves out later on."

"What kind of 'sorting out' do you think will work, Don?" John asked patiently. "If we suddenly dump them outside, the pile would surround the ship, and I'm sure that wouldn't make the Gaelorian Gem's staff happy."

"No, but it would make me happy," West stated boldly. "I say we need to purge the whole ship of them, right now." As he said it, he roughly scooped up one tribble and brandished it for effect. The creature let out a long, offended series of screeches. Startled, Don dropped it and it fell onto the pile by his feet with a tiny chirp.

"Professor," Smith began, "perhaps it's time to do what you nearly suggested. Maybe it's time to alert the Gem's security to this problem. I have a suspicion that we are not the only ship now plagued with them, and any time now we shall all be attracting unwanted attention anyway."

Giving Smith a long, hard glance, John said, "I hate to say it, but he's right. Okay, kids, Maureen, get dressed. We'll talk to the lobby desk staff and then grab something to eat while they're working on the solution to this problem. Don, you have my permission to unload some of these things down below. Smith, you give him a hand."

"I? I? I'll have you know, sir, that I am not responsible for this calamity, and I refuse to become a tribble taxi."

"You'll do it or else," John warned, not bothering to finish the sentence. It was usually enough. "Don, keep an eye on Smith. And Robot, you come with us."

"Whoopee!" crowed the Robot, sounding more like a little boy than a supposedly unemotional mechanical creation.

Grumbling mightily, Smith dressed quickly and began loading up boxes to bring to the docking bay. On his first trip down he noticed that all the occupied ships around them had similar ideas. Much to his chagrin, his prediction had been true. The tribbles were everywhere, a furry plague, spreading out across the whole landing area.

The tedious work grew even more boring after the fourth load. The Robinsons had already left. And they hadn't gone alone, either. Most of the private space vessel owners had conferred, John included, and the entire menagerie had gone off to seek help.

Soon after, Don began pitching the tribbles like baseballs out the exit hatch. Below him, Smith was consigned to playing catcher. Wincing at the pained chirp of each one he dropped, he finally set aside his indignation and focused on not dropping any of the furry projectiles.

"This is hopeless," Don muttered finally, wiping his brow.

For once, Smith had given up on proper decorum and had pitched his black uniform shirt aside. His white undershirt was soaked. "Is it getting warm in here, or is it just me?" he asked.

From just overhead he heard, "It's you. This is what you get for doing nothing but lay around all the time."

"Bah!" Smith answered. "More likely it's from the body heat of all these things. They appear to have a body temperature several degrees higher than humans."

"Oh yeah? Well, they keep this bay pretty cool so I doubt that's it."

Grumbling, Smith continued to field the flying tribbles and lay them on the enormous, and growing, piles beside him. "Enough! I simply must have something to drink, Major, or I shall dehydrate and pass out on the spot."

"Suit yourself, Smith, but don't think this will get you out of more work."

When the doctor climbed up to the lower deck, he looked around in dismay. It didn't seem as if they'd made much a dent in the number of tribbles inside the ship. He went to fetch a cup and found two tribbles nesting in it. Then he went to find the water and found the container drained nearly dry and several soaked tribbles squeezed into the bottom of the container.

"Ugh!" Smith grunted in disgust. He held it up for West to see. "Major, I suggest you hunt up the Robins and tell them to hurry. And while you're at it, why don't you be a good fellow and bring me back a tiny bite to eat? Chicken cordon bleu, if you please, and some pure water."

West tossed aside the tribbles he was holding. "Yeah, right. Anything you say." He didn't bother to hide the sarcasm. "I am going to find John and the others. You stay put, you hear me? And stay out of trouble!"

"Trouble indeed!" Smith sniffed with righteous indignation. "Rest assured I shall hold down the fort till my very last breath."

West drilled Smith with hard eyes. "You'd better!"

Not long after the Major left, Smith waded through the river of fur and selected a big, plump, brindle colored tribble. He took it over to the laboratory alcove and did a quick visual examination. That revealed nothing more than lots of fur, no obvious eyes or ears and a single gray hole in the belly that made moist sucking motions.

Okay, so he'd found the mouth, he thought. _Brilliant deduction, Zachary_, he quipped. _So when will you come up with something other than what any 10 year old could figure out?_

Next he powered up the portable NMR machine, and ran a quick anatomical scan on the purring beast. As he studied the black, gray and white images, he noted small but distinct organs. What he saw dismayed him. Using a syringe, he cautiously removed some blood. Next he ran some additional blood tests, but the computers could tell him nothing of use. Not that he expected it. They were set up for reporting on aberrations within human biological systems. Still, he stored the data anyway.

The thought crossed his mind that a dissection might have yielded more interesting results, but he couldn't bring himself to kill the innocent creature, even in the name of "science".

Taking a pair of scissors, he removed some of the brindle hairs and ran a genetic scan. As expected there were some similarities to the standard nucleic acid sequences he found on Earth, but also some unrecognizable nucleotides. Next he used some of the purple tinged blood sample and put it under a microscope. He noticed the cells themselves had unrecognizable organs, and the nuclei had additional chromosomes not found in any cell on earth.

Gently releasing the tribble back onto the floor, he pulled out a pad and jotted down his findings then took them back to his cabin. He was placing his notes in a "safe" place when he heard the Robinsons returning.

"Smith, where are you?" Don shouted, his tone sounding as if he expected the Doctor to have gone AWOL. He looked disappointed when the object of his animosity showed up at the top of the stairs.

"Right here, Major. Where else would I be?" Smith goaded, in an oily voice.

Without preamble John Robinson began to tell Smith what he'd learned. "Apparently the tribbles are currently isolated to this docking bay, though they are going to check to see if that's not the case. I saw aliens carrying them out earlier, so who knows. Also, they have called in a specialist to handle them."

"A specialist?" queried Smith with a raised eyebrow. "What sort of specialist?"

"They didn't say," Will answered before anyone else could.

"When will all this happen?"

"They didn't say that either," was the ingenuous reply.

"Marvelous. And in the meantime the tribbles are enjoying the fruits of our labor. Which reminds me, did you remember my food?"

With a mocking look, West tossed a plain brown paper bag at the Doctor. Smith sniffed at it, wrinkled his nose, and ventured a look into the container. Sighing in resignation he pulled out what looked like a bright green burrito with black and gray vegetables and purplish meat. Quickly swinging it toward the Robot, he asked one simple question. "Edible?"

"Affirmative," the Robot responded, emotionless.

Smith wasn't convinced. "You had better be certain, my galvanized gourmet. Because if I get ill I assure you, you will be cleaning it up!" He took another tentative sniff.

Without taking a single bite, Smith laid it down on the table, but not before shooing several tribbles away from it.

Thoughtfully he lightly tapped his lips with one finger. Most of the crew was already starting to gather up more of the little invaders. Should he tell them? he wondered. If he did, they'd know he was actually "working" and if they knew that ... well, they'd surely find other things to keep him busy. He felt that, before he knew it, they'd be putting his medical talents to good use all of the time, and that would seriously cut into his 24 hour a day relaxation period. But for once he allowed common sense to win out over self interest.

"Professor, I, uh, utilized some of our medical equipment to study these animals."

At first he thought John was going to express doubt that the study had gone on at all. The man had crossed his arms and was waiting for the results as if he were waiting to hear a tall tale. Smith flinched inwardly. Heaven knows, he'd told some real whoppers over the last three years, but he pushed ahead anyway.

"First of all, these creatures' anatomical structures indicate they exist primarily to eat and breed."

"Tell me something I don't know," John stated, still standing with folded arms.

Smith threw his hands up in the air in consternation. "All right, let's forget all the game playing for a second. I'll tell you what little I've discovered and I'll also let you know, up front, that what I've found isn't much use to us at the moment.

"Upon initial examination, I find that their digestive and reproductive structures are well developed, while their brains and circulatory systems are designed with far more simplicity. I couldn't discover any respiratory system either. Common sense dictates that there would be some pulmonary or similar organ system for the exchange of blood gases, but I couldn't find anything as obvious as lungs or 'airways'. There is the remote possibility that it doesn't need to breathe the way most warm blooded mammals would. Which, incidentally, it is — warm blooded, I mean.

"From cell studies it actually looks much like our own cells, with a few organelles missing and several other unique ones added. As you'd expect, it has a different chromosomal structure than earth animals do.

"Also, genetic scans show that they have certain markers that would indicate they may be susceptible to a few diseases commonly plaguing humans. If true, certain cross species infections can conceivably occur. In other words, it might be possible for them to give us certain diseases and vice versa, though I can't verify it at the moment, at least not without further tests."

Smith took a slow breath and watched the children pushing tribbles into a box on the floor. "I will tell you one very fascinating fact. And it explains why separating them did no good."

By now, John had leaned against the nearest counter, his hands resting partly over the edges. "Go ahead. This I have to hear."

Not sure of the intent of that comment, Smith frowned, but decided to assume the best. "It's born pregnant!"

"What?" John blurted out in amazement, causing everyone to turn his way.

"Born pregnant," repeated Smith smugly, finally glad to have caught Robinson off guard, at least for a brief second or two. "Each tribble has a litter of about four more. The scan clearly showed the reproductive organs, and I could see baby tribbles already formed inside, with the babies about to be born. That can only mean one thing — the infants can bear young soon after they are born.

"Which would certainly account for the rapid growth in their population," he continued. "If they reproduce about once every 15 minutes and grow to maturity in just under an hour, you have an exponentially increasing population which is consuming at full capacity with 60 minutes after birth. Add to that one more problem. The tribble I examined was, as I stated already, pregnant and she was full grown, so they not only bear a litter soon after birth without needing a mate, but they continue to bear young, also presumably without a mate."

"How can they do that?" West asked, as he shoveled balls of fluff into a container.

Smith shrugged. "My best guess would be to say they are hermaphroditic."

"Huh?" Will asked.

"Never mind, William," Smith said sternly. "Go ask your mother another time." As he spoke, Smith's stomach rumbled loudly. Deciding that a green burrito was better that none, he turned to look for it. To his dismay, Smith found that the tribbles had gotten there first.

Gulping down rising bile, he searched for the thermos William had carried back. Reaching for it, he poured a cup of cool water and downed it in three swallows. Ignoring his hunger, he once more turned to John.

"I can't say this with great assurance, but I would guess that as long as they have an adequate food supply, they will keep breeding, just like many primitive species will on Earth."

"Which is why the trader told Penny to stop feeding them," Don called up from nearby.

"But it didn't work, remember?" John reminded him. "They had no access to food in Penny's quarters to begin with, yet they apparently were having their litters anyway."

Smith gestured widely with both hands. "I wish I could tell you more than I already have."

Will and Penny waded through the rapidly replenished sea of tribbles. "How do they eat, Dr. Smith?"

Obligingly Smith picked up a clear plexiglass clipboard and put some of the burrito on it. Then he placed one of the tribbles at one end. As it started to wiggled toward the food, the doctor held the clipboard high overhead. It didn't take any invitation for the children to duck down underneath. Even John and Don edged closer.

The tribble settled over the crumb of food so that its tiny mouth hole was over it. Then, in a flash, a thick, pink/gray, fleshy stalk pushed it's way out of the hole and plopped over the food. Instantly stalk and food were sucked back into the hole.

"Gosh!" Penny exclaimed.

"Boy, you said it," Will added, for once not interested in teasing her for her exuberance.

"Now, you children move along. Time to start shoveling again," Smith encouraged with a "shooing" motion of both hands.

"Smith, you've given me an idea," John stated. "Maybe one of the other ships has a more advanced sick bay. Perhaps we can find out if they've done any research."

John tiptoed, as least as much as a tall, powerful man could tiptoe, around the little islands of rocking, warbling fur. Seconds later he disappeared below.

"Where is that rolling roustabout?" Smith called as soon as the Professor had vanished.

"Here, and forgotten as always," the mechanical man said glumly.

Smith did nothing to hide the disgust in his voice. "Oh really, please spare me the pathetic attempts to garner sympathy. You won't get any from me. Now, we are fast running out of options, and since you have become a theorizing robot, thanks to my brilliance I might add, I want you to 'theorize' a way to solve this problem."

"Which one? Stopping the tribbles from breeding? Stopping the tribbles from eating? Stopping the tribbles from traveling all over the ship? It would be helpful if you could be more specific."

"Indeed! Well, then let's start with getting them off the ship. They are reproducing faster than we can shovel."

"I have a solution!"

"Yes, yes. Spit it out," Smith demanded, enunciating each word clearly.

"Get bigger shovels," the Robot replied.

Smith's head fell to the table, and he lightly banged his forehead against it a few extra times for good measure. "I can't stand it. We are drowning a sea of fur and you throw us a shovel! Out, booby, OUT!"

"Would you prefer a skillet?" the Robot offered.

Looking perplexed, Smith queried, "Skillet? Whatever for?"

"Vittles. There's enough protein here to keep this family fed for a hundred years."

Rolling his eyes, Smith muttered, "Now, why did I know I should never have asked that question?" and he decided to check the landing bay himself, if only to get away from the culinary crackpot.

The scene below him was pure chaos. There was a group of aliens arguing loudly off to his left. Professor Robinson was in the midst of the group, clearly trying to call for restoration to sanity, but the others weren't interested. Other groups were scattered around, presumably arguing about the same thing. Throwing up his hands in disgust, John trod back toward the Jupiter 2.

Smith calculated the situation before Robinson reached him. "I gather you had no luck finding help with obtaining advanced medical equipment."

Shaking his head, John fought to keep his voice calm. "No luck with that. Most of these aliens have arrived in pleasure vehicles. They all have some set up for treating minor medical problems, but nothing elaborate. Our lab, archaic as it to some of these beings, is still better equipped than what they have."

"I don't know of any cruise ship that doesn't have a fair self sufficient medical facility on board. I suggest we start there as soon as possible." Smith took another look at the chaos. "Any appearance by the staff to check out our difficulties?"

John's eyes grew weary. "Not that I've seen. It's just common sense to send someone...unless this bay is monitored by surveillance devices. I suspect that's the case. They can probably see what's happening from whatever passes as the 'control room' or 'security office'."

He crouched as if to sit down on the steps leading up into the belly of the Jupiter 2 then jerked up, pivoting quickly. A look of relief flashed across his handsome features. If there was one thing he didn't want to do it was to squash one of the little hairy beasts. Carefully he sat, then assumed a position of deep thought.

As Smith stood facing John, a tribble, fat and furry, plopped down on his head with a shocked squeak. At first, John looked back up into the dimly lit entrance, frowned, then returned to his previous meditations. Another furball buzzed him on its way down to the bay's deck Thirty seconds later two more plopped right on his head, squawking in indignation. John ignored them.

Finally it was clear that he could come up with no solution that would satisfy humans and tribbles alike. Standing up, stretching for lack of something else to do, he stated, "Well, I suppose I should get back up there and see if there's anything I can do to help."

As he began to walk up the steps, Smith called after him, "Whatever you do, don't let that murderous manservant serve you lunch!"

"Why?" John asked, bending down to look at Smith.

"Because he's got 'Toasted Tribble' on the menu, that's why!"

John's stomach did a revolting flip flop.

To Smith's satisfaction he saw the Professor disappear into the ship with his hands clutching his middle. "I hear it tastes like chicken," Smith crowed after him, trying to sound helpful.

There was a loud "Ugh!" from overhead, and Smith chuckled evilly. When he was sure he could make his entrance back on board without cracking a smile, he strode up the steps.

The other members of the Jupiter 2 crew had, in general, given up trying to unload the tribbles via the exits. Too much walking, Will complained, sounding more like an old man rather than a young and vigorous boy. Though it was not part of his nature to be cruel, he had opted for dumping the hairy balls down the garbage chute. They went, cheeping and chirping, into the dark tube, landing with annoyed little noises as they hit a growing pile on the Gem's deck.

Near Will, the Robot was picking them up one by one and handing them to Judy. "Tribble L'orange," he stated. "Creamed Tribble over noodles. Tribble Stroganoff."

Judy's beautiful smile lit up the lower deck, and she giggled at the silliness of it all. They were in deep trouble, she knew that, but somehow she couldn't mire herself in the same seriousness as her parents.

"I could sure go for Tribble Stroganoff," she stated dreamily.

Penny opened her mouth widely and stuck her tongue out in distaste. "Yuck! I hate stroganoff."

Mom and Pop Robinson took a long, hard, disbelieving look at their offspring. I think your children have finally lost it," John told Maureen without a smile.

Equally straight faced, she replied, "I think your children are entirely too much like you."

"Why, thank you," John responded, and let out the laugh he had struggled to hold in. Maureen joined him.

Bending over, she scooped up an armful of tribbles, and handing them to Judy said, "Tribble Parmesan..."


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

The intercom system brought Don's voice down to the lower deck in a booming statement. "Cavalry's here," he announced.

Everyone, Smith included, went to the upper level and made a beeline for the main view screen. From it they could just about make out a crowd of white suited aliens parading by. They seemed to come from nearly every representative species on board the Gaelorian Gem. The only distinctive marking that joined them together were their white robes, or sashes for the non humanoids. Each uniform boasted a patch with a neon yellow star burst on a blue field.

The visitors gave a quick cursory tour of the bay. They were hounded by many of the ship owners, but didn't deign to make comment on the situation. After about 20 minutes they disappeared through he main gate leading to the lobby.

"I wonder if that was a good sign — or a bad one," Smith commented in a cautious tone of voice.

"A bad one," the Robot informed them 30 minutes later, after a brief rumbling vibrated through the ship.

"What's going on?" West inquired from the command chair.

The Robot's upper body swiveled smoothly in his direction. "My sensors show that the portals to the beltway have just been shut."

John bolted down the steps seconds later and found the other ship owners gathered around a sign posted on the door. It wasn't hard cornering one alien who was backing away from the portal.

"What does it say?" John asked anxiously.

The alien's multiple feathered protuberances shook with apparent distress or agitation. In a voice that was far too loud for such a small body, the being shouted, "Quarantine. That's what it says! We are not allowed to leave until this situation is under control."

Then the alien rounded on John. "Which reminds me. Wasn't your little female offspring the one who brought those pests here?"

Others turned at this reminder. John's heart began to palpate wildly in his chest. He was surrounded and outnumbered. Slowly he backed toward his ship. "She got them from a trader who assured her the tribbles were safe." John's excuse sounded lame, but he knew diplomacy was going to be pointless. "We had never seen them before, and because of those assurances we thought it was safe to keep one."

"ONE? ONE?" the alien shrilly jabbered. "There are thousands of them now. Too many to count! They are everywhere. The food and drink storage areas on every vessel have been contaminated."

John held up his hands in a placating manner. "We are also suffering the same way. Please, be patient. I'm sure the authorities will know how to handle the tribbles quickly and efficiently. Meanwhile, our doctor is studying them and perhaps he can come up with something useful." Robinson knew that part wasn't 100% true. But it sounded good, and stalling seemed the wisest course of action.

He continued his litany of assurances as the crowd pushed him back. Suddenly he made a dash for his ship. Praying that someone was manning the hatch controls, John bolted up the steps and lunged through the hatch. "Shut it! Now!"

Panting mightily, sticky with the sweat of exertion and fear, he stumbled over to where his shocked family was waiting.

"Things getting a trifle ugly out there, aren't they?" Smith's pinched features radiated barely restrained terror.

"Now, that's an understatement," John grunted.

Penny sat down in a corner and began to cry. With a sympathetic look, Maureen knelt down and took the teenager in her arms. "Shh," she consoled. "It's not your fault."

"Yes, it is!"

"No...it's not. You didn't do this on purpose."

"But I still did it even if I didn't know what I was doing," Penny wailed. "And now we have everyone angry at us. What are we going to do?"

John also knelt down and took her into his arms. "It's all right, sweetheart. It's all a big accident. Soon the authorities will have everything under control and this incident will all blow over." With a loving pat on her leg, he got up and signaled Don to join him on the upper deck. Will, giving Penny a sympathetic look, went to join his father.

Once Maureen was sure Penny would be all right, she too went upstairs. Only Judy and Dr. Smith remained below.

Suddenly very weary, Smith decided to take a short nap while the others hassled with the problem at hand. He was a lover, not a fighter, and handling recalcitrant aliens just wasn't up his alley. Going to his cabin, he tried to open the door and found it stuck. Grunting in consternation he yanked it open. It slid back suddenly.

With a cry of shock, a big, fat, hairy wall, at least as tall as he was, came cascading on Smith. The weight of so many little bodies slammed him to the floor, and in an instant he was completely covered by a mass of trilling and purring tribbles.

Despite her pain, Penny burst out laughing. She'd forgotten the little "surprise" Don had planned for their reluctant stowaway. The absurdity of the moment took away the sorrow she felt. Judy smiled at Penny, glad to see her little sister distracted, even if it was only for a brief time.

"Mmrphr," came a muffled sound at the bottom of the heap. A few tribbles popped straight up as if they'd been goosed from below. A face appeared. "Will somebody PLEASE help me up?" Smith implored through his beard of red and white tribbles. "Oh woe, I can envision my tombstone now. Here lies the noble Zachary Smith...tribbled to death."

Once more Penny laughed. "Dr. Smith, no one can exaggerate quite like you."

More tribbles flopped around. "How true, my dear," he admitted wryly. "All of us Smiths have a real knack for it, you know...ACHOO! Get these furballs off my face, if you'd be so kind."

Together Judy, Penny and the Robot dragged the Doctor from the pile.

The containment crew showed up around dinner time with a huge load of sealed boxes. Food was distributed to every ship in that bay. The lynch mob had dissipated soon after, only because every being that required daily sustenance was too absorbed with assuring they got their fair share.

Surprisingly several guards were posted around the Jupiter 2. John gave the order to open the hatch. Two of the guards handed him seven sealed boxes, one for each crew member. "Return them when you are finished," the guard stated without preamble.

"Any news on how you'll get rid of the tribbles?" John asked.

Shaking two of its four "shoulders", the blue skinned alien turned slitted cats' eyes on the Professor. "The situation is being discussed."

"That's it? It can't be as bad as all that. Why not just come in here and haul them off?"

"That is for the extermination team to decide," it responded dryly.

Seeing that he would get no further information, John reentered the ship.

"Daddy, surely you don't mean they'll kill all the tribbles?:" Penny cried in distress.

"No, honey, that's not what they said. Maybe there's a safe way to deal with them. Move them somewhere, perhaps."

"Can they do that?"

John pursed his lips in thought. "Sweetheart, do you remember when we had those squirrels in the attic?"

"Sure."

"What did we do in that situation?"

Penny thought back to the incident. "We trapped them in little cages."

"And then?"

"Well...we moved them to the woods on the north end of town and let them loose."

"Exactly. And that's what I hope their solution will be as well." John gave Penny a short but powerful hug. She rewarded him with a warm, relieved smile. There was hope yet, her look seemed to say.

Across the room, Smith wiped his brow. Little beads of sweat were sliding down his cheek. His clothes were soaked, his body was caked with tribble hair, and he wanted a shower in the worst way. He removed his shirt and tossed it onto a pile of tribble, who promptly nestled into it. Two more climbed up the chair, headed for his neck, and in short order were trying to make love to his ears. They purred loudly. Smith pushed them down and three more returned. Each time he touched them, they trilled in delight. "Ladies, please. I'm but one man."

Judy smirked.

Smith pushed them off again.

The tribbles came back for more.

Smith shoved harder. Tribbles squawked but climbed up and purred louder. "ACHOO!"

Judy looked up from her boxed dinner. Unlike Smith's genteel and often faked sneezes, this one was let loose with real gusto. She heard him sniffle. Tribble dander was floating in the still air.

"ACHOO!"

"Bless you," several voices chorused.

"Good heavens, somebody turn down the heat!" Smith bellowed when he caught his breath.

"We tried." Will poked his head down through the ladder hatch. "Dad says all these little bodies are cu...cumu...cumulatively adding body heat and that's what's raising the temperature in here. Plus, with the ship locked up tight, it's not helping."

"So open the doors," was the testy reply.

Will's voice contained a shrug. "Dad didn't think it was wise, even with the guards out there. Three guards can't hold a hundred aliens for long as they're all looking for trouble."

"How encouraging. ACHOO!"

As soon as the tribble pile at the base of the ship had fanned out, thereby cleaning the garbage chute, the Robinsons started shoveling in earnest. John gave the order to open the exists to get in some fresh air. The Robot positioned himself at the edge of the stairs and broomed out any intruder that tried to climb back in.

What wafted up smelled distressingly pungent, but it was better than the stifling air inside the ship. The air purification system was requiring cleaning about four times an hour as the filtering mechanisms jammed with hair and dander.

Not more than two hours after dinner, Penny approached Dr. Smith with glassy eyes that threatened to spill more tears. The way she stood there, so grown up and yet so child like, made him want to hold her, to console her as her parents did. The compassionate side of his nature, which he carefully hid from the others lest they expect too much of him, rose to the fore. It spilled out into his expression, and Penny lost the fight to stay calm.

Holding a black and tan tribble, she sniffed, "Something's wrong with this one, Dr. Smith. Is there something you can do for it?"

"I'm not a veterinarian, child," he told her gently. Then he confessed, "I haven't learned what makes them tick yet. Therefore I can't cure them either."

She stood there, tears streaking her cheeks. She pulled the still creature to her chest and held it there.

Making sure no one else was around to see, he moved closer to her and murmured, "All right, let me see it. I'll try my best, but can make no promises."

Gingerly he took the small creature and cradled it in one hand. It neither purred nor trilled nor complained. In fact, it didn't move at all. Turning it over, he examined the mouth parts and instantly noted the pink/gray color had seriously darkened to charcoal gray. He stroked its fur and noted the slightly rough texture. It didn't take a veterinary degree to know that this tribble had gone to meet its maker.

"Penny, it pains me to be the bearing of sad tiding, but I'm afraid our little friend here has...reached the end of its life span."

"Are you sure?" Penny's voice sounded a bit ragged around the edges.

"Reasonably certain, unless this is some form of hibernation." He gently grasped her upper arm and let her see the compassion in his eyes. "My dear, sweet child, this may be a natural thing. Perhaps they have a very short life span."

"I suppose," Penny acquiesced softly. "What should I do with it."

Smith shrugged. It wouldn't be good to keep it around the ship. It would smell after a while. And putrefy besides, which might introduce unknown pathogens into the ship's environment. For safety reasons alone, he told her, "Best bring it outside and give it to the guards. They can give it to the authorities for examination."

"Yes, sir," she responded, and promptly left the ship,

It didn't take long to learn that the demise of that tribble wasn't an isolated incident. An hour later about ten more dead ones showed up. Near bedtime, the number had quadrupled.

Outside in the loading bay, live tribbles skirted silent, unmoving ones. The tide had turned _But why? _Smith asked silently. _Were they like flies that hatched, bred and died in a 48 hour period?_

The extermination crew came and examined the corpses. John, Don and Smith went out to meet them. Now that something was being done, the other aliens had conspicuously steered clear of the Jupiter 2 group. Therefore, they were able to approach the cleanup crew unimpeded.

"Why are they dying?" Smith asked almost immediately, not bothering with niceties.

"Working on it," the creature replied, obviously annoyed at being sidetracked.

"Is this normal?"

The alien wrinkled his pig like snout. "Negative. Tribble life span is about two months."

Smith looked intrigued. "Really? Care to divulge the reasons behind that?"

Snorting derisively, the creature muttered, "Tribbles are dark worlders. their planet is in eccentric orbit. Little sun, little warmth. Dark nearly all year long. Ferocious predators everywhere. Always hungry predators. They eat tribbles by the thousands each day during sunny, warm seasons. Very many tribbles are born, millions, in that short time. Very, very few survive. Those that do hibernate, and come out when the light period returns, when their food supply is restored, to start reproducing again."

Nodding, Smith realized that some of his unvoiced speculations had been true. "And they are born pregnant, which helps the numbers increase rapidly."

"Yes, born pregnant and ravenously hungry. They eat fruits, vegetables, grains. They can decimate a planet in no time if predators don't exist. It is illegal to remove tribbles from their home world. I would say you are in great trouble."

"I'll have you know, sir, that I did not bring them here!" Smith sniffed indignantly. He almost spit out that Penny had done it, but caught himself before the words sprang loose. "There is a trader, one Cyrano Jones, I believe he said was his name; he is the one who brought the tribbles here. Best your staff look to him for culpability. Meanwhile, we all need to unload these beasts from our midst."

"Soon," the creature replied. "We will restore living tribbles to their home world as soon as the freighter arrives. Dead ones will be incinerated."

"How lovely," sniffed Smith. "You'd better do it immediately. The ones I've seen were already bloating up."

The alien exterminator gave Smith a "mind your own business" looked and stomped heavily away.

When Smith returned to the ship he found Penny sadly sorting through the tribble piles, pulling out the swollen bodies of deceased tribbles and putting them in a large bag someone had given her. She turned her tear streaked face toward him.

Quietly Smith knelt down near her, and softly told her, "My dear child, I know how much this hurts you. And I wish there were something I could say that would make it better. Just remember, no one is to blame."

Penny wiped a tear away with the back of her hand. She nodded slowly, realizing he and her family were probably right.

John and Maureen watched silently, looking at each other with soft smiles and waiting until Smith entered his cabin. Soon, tribble bodies, both live and dead were flying through the air and landing on the central piles.


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

Shocking news reached them in less than traditional ways. The exterminators simply came into the ship uninvited, and told them they were to close off their vessel immediately until further notice. Food would be supplied to them, and water if needed, but that was the only time the crew was to leave the ship.

"Why?" John asked the obvious question for them all.

"Because several passengers in this bay have fallen ill. Gravely ill. We are unsure if this was something they carried in from their home world or if the tribbles have caused the problem. Nevertheless, you are to remain here and isolate yourselves no matter what happens."

"Is there a staff doctor checking on this?" Maureen asked.

The alien grunted. "No, but the ship is awaiting a replacement. There was an altercation a few days ago between the Limnat and the Drokani. Don't ask about what specifically; I have no idea, though it did get back to the news vids on my home world. Rumor had it that it was over mining rights on some third world they both laid claim to. But who knows? They are always fighting over something."

"Anyway, the doctor got caught in the middle of it when the battle carried over into the sick bay, and he was hurt. They shipped him off to the hospital soon after."

Smith looked a little nervous. "And are these beings still on the ship?"

"No. All of them were told to leave and they haven't been back, so you needn't worry about your safety in that regard."

Looking relieved, Smith leaned back against the bulkhead.

"I will have a crew come in within one standard hour to remove these pests. Please follow my instructions in the meantime. And the Gaelorian Gem thanks you for your patience." His spiel having been recited, the alien left.

As anticipated, several aliens of various races entered and began the clean up. They were professional and efficient, and within four hours all the tribbles had been removed from every conceivable part of the ship and every inconceivable part as well. It was amazing where the little creatures had hidden and bred.

But the quarantine didn't lift that day. One additional alien in the landing bay had gotten sick. Two had died, and one more was close to death. The exterminators said it was a horrible way to go. They were delirious, and moaning in agony.

"How horrible!" Smith gasped, imagining it only too well. As a young doctor he'd seen his fair share of illnesses, especially in people who waited until the last possible minute before seeking medical assistance.

"You're a doctor, Dr. Smith," Will blurted out as he was listening to this. "Can't you do something to help them?"

"William!" Smith yelled suddenly. Catching himself, he whispered in a hissing voice, "I'm a doctor for humans, not a xenobiologist."

"Still, I'd think some things are similar, aren't they? Maybe not how their bodies work, but planning strategies might be the same, don't you think?"

"No, William, I certainly do not!"

The alien, who could hear a pin drop with his huge ears, rounded on him in a heartbeat. "A doctor? Is that so? Maybe you'd be of use at that."

"Oh joy, William, now you've done it," Smith moaned, holding his head. "They're going to put me in the midst of some horrid plague and I'll likely die of it long before I figure out the cure!"

The alien, in a vaguely female voice, wasn't about to play games. She dragged Smith by the arm, man handling him in a rather abrupt way, which elicited growls and groans of protest from the struggling physician. She was bigger and stronger than Smith, however, and she rather unceremoniously heaved the still protesting man over her broad shoulder. Smith howled his indignation. It got cut short as she began bouncing down the steps. The air was forced out of his lungs by the way her bone ridged shoulders dug into his unprotected gut.

Once on the surface of the bay, she asked, "Will you walk or do I need to drag you?"

"How dare you, madam! I'll have you know I'll file a protest. As surely as my name is Zachary Smith, you shall pay for the indignity you are putting me through."

Fortunately for him, he didn't hear the laughter of the younger children or see the sober look on the faces of the older crew members. All he could think about as he walked over to the group gathered by one large, sleek vessel was that he was probably going to die. He didn't know the first thing about alien physiology, and while his knowledge of infectious diseases was adequate, it certainly wasn't at its best. He was no communicable disease specialist. Sure, he could handle the common colds and flu, and even the odd rare disorder. But this was well beyond his skills. He repeatedly tried to tell the beings standing around in the white coats those facts. They weren't listening.

Two beings started to walk toward the gangway leading up to the nearest ship, and gestured for Smith to follow. He hung back and someone rudely shoved him from behind.

"Wait!" he shouted, holding up his hands. "I refuse to go in there with protective equipment. Surgical gloves and a mask, at the very least. In fact, I shall require an entire protective suit."

"Very well, Dr. Smith. I shall have your shipmates locate these items and one of my fellows will return with it."

Smith slumped in resignation. Then he brightened "Bring that bubble headed cargo bearer with you."

"What for?" the leader asked suspiciously.

Smith thought fast. "He's a machine and therefore immune to anything in there. Also you won't need to worry about him spreading the infection. He can carry messages. Besides, I have need of his services to record any data I discover."

"Very well, I will have him fetch what you need." With a quick jerk of his half moon claws, he signaled another being to do his bidding.

When the Robot returned, Smith took the gown, surgical gloves, mask, cap, booties and glasses, donning each one slowly.

"Hurry up!" the alien growled, knowing procrastination when he saw it.

"Bah!" Smith spat back, slowing still further. He knew the jig was up but pushed the limits anyway. Finally he couldn't stall anymore. He took a few hesitant steps up the gangway. Looking back, he saw that the aliens had effectively blocked any avenue of escape.

Slowly, he entered the portal and looked around. A white garbed being with a rectangular clear covering over his snout, signaled for him to follow. He passed a room with a bloated and obviously dead body on the bed. Then he went into another stateroom, this one very plush and ornate. In the middle of a large velvet covered bed was an enormous beast, identified as N'las. The creature looked a bit like a platypus. Its mounded belly was quivering with pain and its billed mouth opened and snapped shut with almost every breath.

It moaned, a very human sound. Gradually Smith approached the being and looked at it carefully. Its triple purple eyes were large and ringed with white. He had no idea if that was normal or not. Its fur was cherry red, short, coarse, and very thick. Again, he didn't know what was normal. The same went for its respiration rates. He counted 40 in one minute. For a human that was exceedingly fast, but for this creature? Who knew? He took his stethoscope from the Robot and placed it on the alien's chest. Nothing definitive, only a distant thumping.

_ Well, so much for that,_ he thought ruefully. He moved it around the entire torso and found a pounding beat high in the upper right chest and another down in the lower belly region. Both pulsed about a half second apart.

_ Too slow, _Smith told himself. _At least I presume so._

"This isn't working," he stated to the Robot and the alien. "I repeat what I've already said. I have no knowledge of this creatures' psychology. By the time someone educates me, they could all be dead."

The alien in the meantime moaned louder and clutched his gut as if in agony. Smith, shifting into his professional mode, made a serious attempt to find anything that might stand out as unusual. He palpated many organs and was forced to admit that everything seemed unusual. Even through his gloves he could tell that the patient was extremely warm.

"I don't suppose anyone knows what the normal body temperature for this creature is supposed to be?" he asked sarcastically.

"What measurement do humans use?"

"Fahrenheit or Celsius."

"Never heard of them."

Smith rolled his eyes. "Figures."

The alien handed him a doctor's bag, the one from the Jupiter 2. From it he pulled an ear thermometer. Inserting it into the one naked ear canal of the creature, he waited for the three beeps to tell him it was ready. With great trepidation, he scanned the results.

Looking at the Robot, he rolled his eyes for emphasis "It hit the top end. We'd be better off with an oven thermometer."

There was a rattle of metal as someone ran down the hall. It skidded to a stop on six heavily clawed feet. "Two more dead," it stated in a non human voice. "Three more sick."

"How are the tribbles?" Smith asked suddenly, acting on a hunch

"Almost all dead. Why?"

"I'm wondering if it's possible these beings have picked up something infectious from the tribbles." _Oh God,_ he shivered. _Dear William, Penny, Judy...they could all be infected._

He flopped into a nearby chair that was much too large for him. It made him look small helpless, which was precisely how he was feeling.

The man who wanted to take no responsibility for anything suddenly wished he could instantly absorb the alien medical texts so he could figure this thing out. Not just because his own life now depended on it, but because everyone's life depended on it...and on him.

No matter what happened now, he decided he didn't want to just sit back and watch. There was too much at stake, too much to lose. And after all, he WAS a gambler at heart.

_ Time to up the ante,_ he told himself, as he stripped off his protective gear and hurled it into an empty metal trash bin. To the others he said, "Somehow I've got to get to the Gem's sickbay. Bring some of the tribbles for analysis."

"Dr. Smith," the Robot stopped him. "Perhaps the two strings of deaths are unrelated. Maybe the tribbles died of something else."

"That is indeed a possibility, but my intuition is telling me there is a link somewhere."

"I hope you are right, because for every minute you waste studying the tribbles, others may be getting sick or dying."

Anger shot out like flames from Smith's eyes. The veins in his temples throbbed. The Robot was so shocked by this genuine display of hostility that he shut his sensors down and backed up, his bubble dropping with a loud "clunk".

"Don't you think I realize that?" Smith snarled. "I'm not a fool, though you all treat me like one." He started to calm down. "Robot, it is quite convenient and pleasant for me when I keep out of the Robinsons way. But I derive no enjoyment from seeing these creatures suffering. Therefore I shall do my best to render assistance even if my aid is far from successful. You, my stalwart sentinel, will stand guard over me. Finally, you are hereby ordered to keep your voice module shut about whatever you see or hear."

"Why?" the Robot asked automatically.

"Because I have a bad image to maintain, that's why!" Smith then chuckled as if he were thinking of some private joke, and strolled out of the room. But not before giving his first patient a very worried look first.

The Robot followed him, his sensors picking up some very strange vibes from his "friend", mentor and antagonist. "May I inquire what you are planning to do?'

"Nothing definite, but I have an idea I'd like to follow up on." Smith marched on, displaying unusual energy, as if his idea would evaporate if he didn't act on it quickly enough. Striding toward the lead being of the crew, he asked, "What's the likelihood of our gaining access to the Gem's sick bay?"

"Depends," was the gruff answer. The alien crossed his crustacean like pincers. "What do you plan on doing there?"

"I'd like to access some of the medical equipment."

"I thought you wouldn't be able to use it."

"With the assistance of this computerized chatterbox, I just might be able to utilize its information. It's worth a try, don't you agree?"

"Agreed," the alien replied, after a minutes' deep thought. "Let me talk to my superior, however, and see if he has any objections."

"Excellent! Meanwhile, why don't you also inquire about the state of affairs elsewhere on this ship. Try to ascertain if this disease has spread elsewhere?"

"I'll do that, doctor."

That said, Smith wheeled and half jogged to the Jupiter 2. Once there he yanked out a large basket and began hauling out scalpels, the small microscope, slides, stains and dyes in a small rack, and an assortment of other medical supplies.

Don, sitting nearest the lab section of the ship, heard Smith muttering something about "giving his eye teeth for an electron microscope". But West didn't have time to ask any question, and after a great flurry of activity, the doctor vanished again.

Smith wasted no time in getting back to the crew chief. "Well?" he shouted as he approached. "What news do you have for me?"

The alien calmly awaited this irritating human's arrival. "The news is not good. As you must have clearly suspected, the disease has spread from this bay and others have fallen sick. Not many, but the general symptoms are the same. Some of those beings are in their staterooms; others, like those here, were trapped in the bays during the initial quarantine."

"If it weren't for them coming back here to dispose of their unwanted guests they too would have been in their staterooms," Smith stated. "But that's neither here nor there. If this disease is tribble borne as I suspect, then anywhere the tribbles go, people could get sick."

"Not every being in contact with them is sick," the leader pointed out, his mandibles clicking loudly in confusion.

"Due to physiological differences," Smith said, with more assurance than he felt. "Which reminds me. I will require blood samples from each species that has fallen ill." That said, he further inquired, "Now, what about my gaining access to the sick bay?"

"It has been approved, but the authorities would rather you do your research here as much as possible. The patrons are scared enough as it is, and if they got ill for some reason and found you doing their studies in there, it might panic them further."

Smith shrugged. It would be inconvenient to move the equipment to the Jupiter 2, for instance, but if they did the leg work for him, he didn't much care. In fact, the purple eyed platypus had a rather grand lounge area on his ship, and that would, with tables set up, suffice as a work area. Besides, it was easier for the Robot to come and go from there.

"Fine, let's make haste and see what's in there first. If possible, supply me with something to tag the necessary equipment, then all you'll need to do is find someone to transport it here." He then outlined where he wanted the equipment set up.

"Come along, booby," he waved at the Robot. "Time's awastin', as they say."

As they moved to the portal, an invisible signal was sent out that only the Robot's sensors could detect. Soon the door opened and they traversed the empty hallways. Clearly the area had been cordoned off from the rest of the ship, even though the disease had spread to other parts of the ship, including some of the bays they were currently passing by.

The lobby too was nearly deserted, aside from a few brave souls with an apparent death wish, and the staff, who were loyal to the end.

When Smith entered the sickbay, he gasped at the wide array of medical equipment set out before his awestruck gaze. The enormity of what he was about to undertake sucked the breath from him. He was trying to tackle the impossible already, but here was equipment clearly beyond his ken.

The Robot, however, was more comfortable around machinery, even things as complex as this. He went over to a panel and began tapping at it with his red claws.

"What are you doing?" Smith inquired, leaning around the Robot's round torso.

"Uploading language information first," was the succinct reply.

"And then?"

"I hope to supply you with names for the equipment. I might, if this works, also be able to tell you something about how to operate it."

"Splendid." Smith nearly crowed with joy. "Actually, I don't think I'll need a great deal if we can locate what would be comparable to an electron microscope."

"What are you hoping to find with it?"

"Viruses, most likely."

The Robot disconnected from the computer link up system. "What if that reveals nothing?"

"Well, there is always the possibility that it's a bacteria. If it's anything other than that, I have no idea where to start looking or how to recognize it even if I find it."

He crossed his arms and hugged himself as if cold. He took a very deep, shaky breath. "Robot, I am feeling very overwhelmed," he said in a hushed whisper. "I know you don't believe it, but I was a better than average physician. That's why I wound up on the Jupiter project to begin with. However, etiopathogensis is not my strong suit."

It didn't take a being as perceptive as the Robot to tell this admission was causing Smith some considerable discomfort. It hurt Smith to admit his shortcomings, that was obvious, but not for the standard reasons of pride or self protection.

"I'm out of my element," he finally acknowledged, stating the obvious. "Had I been back on Earth I probably could have figured out the problem by accessing databases or exotic disease texts after running tests on diagnostic devices I'm quite familiar with. But out here, with no medical resources and mainly primitive diagnostic tools, I worry that the difficulty of this task is far above my ability to conquer it."

Slowly, the Robot rolled over and gently patted Smith's shoulder. The doctor reached up and tapped the claw with chilled, moist fingers. "You've been too good to me, my faithful friend," Smith said. "Perhaps, between the two of us, we can solve this mystery and help save some lives."

"I will endeavor to serve you in every way I can, Dr. Smith."

"Well, let's get to it, shall we?" He walked to the first console. "What's this?"

"I don't know, Dr. Smith. I'm sorry to say that when I tried to upload information, the ships' computers rejected my attempts to access it."

Throwing up his hands in despair, Smith growled, "Wonderful! Just my luck, which I don't mind tell you has been rotten lately!" Forcing himself to calm down and think rationally, he stated, "Enough of this for now. Let's get back to our bay. We'll have to do this the old fashioned way."

"Old fashioned way?" the Robot inquired.

"Dissection, manual examination, tissue biopsies. We have the dyes to stain cells after the tissue has gone through a microtome, which incidentally we do have. It's a slow, tedious process to do it all by hand, but it can be done. I'll need to locate some paraffin to set the tissue into before I can set the specimen on the slides, however. Maybe you can do that for me. If the Jupiter 2 was equipped with all the other things, then surely they thought to pack paraffin."

"Affirmative. I'll get right on it as soon as we get back."

The extermination crew walked the dejected duo back to the massive landing bay. They were all greeted by scared or angry yells. Demands for information hurled around the room like thrown "dodge balls". The crew set up a protective barrier around the human and robot as they walked back to the alien ship's newly designed laboratory.

Blood and hair specimens were already waiting for them. Some were labelled as being from the other hanger bays. Smith sat down with a pencil and paper and began to record information, giving each vial a number. He sent all the newly labelled specimens to the Robot, with orders to send them through DNA testing back at the Jupiter 2.

"And be careful not to mix any of them up," he admonished.

"Never fear, Robot is here," was the reply.

"Very funny, you clattering comedian," Smith mumbled, with a half hearted growl.

Once the Robot had gone off to do his duty, Smith approached the crew leader. He reported their inability to access any information from the sickbay. The crew leader wilted a bit. Air formed in a foggy patch on his protective mask. Smith wondered if that would be sufficient to protect them.

Finally the doctor made his request. "Bring me a dead tribble. Better still, bring me several of them."

"That shouldn't be too hard!" was the hissed reply.

The deceased specimens were in his hands almost before he could return to his lab. Carefully he laid one in a clean pan. Washing his hands, he slipped on surgical gloves and went to visit his ailing patient. After judging that little was different aside from the patient's labored breathing, he returned to the lab and began his revolting task.

In short order he had the simple internal organs of the tribble bared to the light. Much of what he'd suspected was laid open to his probing. The NMR scanner at the Jupiter 2 had been quite efficient. However, the digestive tract of the creature looked unhealthy. As if many capillaries had ruptured. Most of the internal organs looked enlarged and stressed. And angry purple gray in color. Any first year med student could have told that this animal didn't die easily or painlessly.

"Gross examination reveals massive tissue necrosis," the told the robot, who dutifully recorded the information.

Pulling out his surgical tools, Smith selected a bowel section and sliced a paper thin sliver out of it. He placed it on a slide and slid it under the microscope. He saw signs of tissue damage everywhere. On higher magnification, he saw ruptured cells. Which could have been consistent with a virus which used the host cell for reproduction then burst the cell membranes in its fight to get out. Then again, a bacteria could do similar damage from the outside in.

The Robot returned with the small paraffin supply. In minutes he'd lit a candle under it and waited for it to soften. Then he took another sample of tissues and dropped a tiny blob of it into the heated wax. Both were removed from the heat. Once it had become firm, he put the specimen in the microtome and started slicing out square pieces barely thicker than a layer of cells. The tissue thin pieces began to curl, and Smith worked quickly to lay them on a slide, place a cover over them, and set them in a rack.

Soon after, a second and third tribble's digestive tract biopsy specimen joined the first. Setting them up for staining, he mentally set his watch.

Exhausted more from his mental rather than physical exertions, Smith sank into a nearby chair and laid his weary head on his upraised palm. He sat still, but didn't sleep. The doctor's concern for his patients was keeping him from doing anything but thinking about the tasks and decisions ahead.

While he sat, the Robot returned with the genetic scan printout. Jerking to full alertness, Smith snatched it away. "So sorry," he mumbled, apologizing for his abruptness.

"Forgiven," the Robot replied.

Smith spent the next few minutes scanning the results. Seeing the Robot waiting, patiently, expectantly, the doctor said, "Not much of a surprise here. Much of the DNA chains are in unusual patterns. The nucleotides are in some ways similar to ours and in other ways totally ... alien. Much like the tribbles, in fact. Which doesn't surprise me. Some of the DNA of the sentients may have similarly sequented strands to that of the tribbles. That may explain who gets sick and who doesn't, at least in terms of general susceptibility."

Then the doctor pushed a loud, slow wave of air from his lungs. "I think it might be wise to do a quick scan of hair from the Robinsons and West just to see how different our DNA patterns actually are."

"Do you think that would help?"

"No, not really, but it would be a good reference point. One thing we do know so far is that it's endemic. It only appears to be striking certain aliens so far. But why? And how is the disease passed? By touch? Or through the air? Or in the water or food supply?"

He checked his chronometer and removed the stained slides. Putting them under the microscope he set about trying to find something that looked unusual. Unfortunately, as with the gross examination, everything looked either vaguely unfamiliar or totally unfamiliar. Some cell structures seemed similar to those of humans. He looked them over. Then he looked for how those cells died, but came up with no conclusive answers. The stain didn't show much. Then he went to the next slide, and again didn't see much of use.

When he got to the third series of slides, which was bathed in the third type of stain, he was already wondering if he would recognize a problem when he saw it. The cells looked the same, but suddenly he saw a few of them surrounded by dark, rounded blotches. They appeared to be attacking the cells.

"Bacteria!" he yelled, as he jumped to his feet, startling the Robot. "Eureka! These cells have been decimated by a bacteria of some sort." He did a quick little jig, not because he was proud of himself as much as relieved that he had gotten some sort of answer. He now knew one thing for certain. These tribbles had apparently been infected with some sort of bacteria that invaded the gut area.

"Robot, I don't care how you do it, but you must get an analyzer running in that sick bay! I need to find out if the bacteria is just killing them by destroying the cells or if they are killing the tribbles by other means."

"I am not following you, Dr. Smith," the Robot replied.

"It's quite simple, you brainless bucket of bolts. Not all bacteria kill directly. Sometimes they cause, as I suspect in this case, inflammation of the digestive tract. They burrow into the lining of the walls of the gut, where blood supplies are copious. Like E. Coli, for instance. Most strains don't hurt humans, but a few are quite virulent and will pump toxins directly into the blood stream."

"Do you suspect that such invasion and inflammation is happening to the other aliens as well?"

"Could be very possible. Yes, indeed it could," Smith stated proudly. "But we must find out if their digestive tracts have the same bacteria."

"I suppose that means we must make a trip to the ..."

"... the morgue. Yes, I'm afraid so."

"I was afraid of that," the mechanical man said glumly.


	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

The trip to the morgue, in back of the sick bay, was accomplished swiftly. That was partly because dead bodies tended to give Smith the creeps though he refused to admit it. He did one of the fastest post mortems on record, using the Robot's memory banks as a recording device. Bottling up his specimens, he hastily made his way back to the ship. By then the commotion in the landing bay had died out, as most of the aliens had gone back to their own ships. Even the lights in the Jupiter 2 were off.

Once again slides rested in staining trays. Too wired to nap lest he miss the cut off time to remove the slides, Smith went for a brief walk. If nothing else he hoped to bring order to his jumbled speculations. Smith stopped before one square porthole and looked across the crowded yet silent bay toward the ship he called "home".

On board that very ship, in the dark, West, John and Maureen were all staring out the view port. They saw Smith's silhouette, far off but still distinct.

"How is he doing, do you suppose?" Maureen asked quietly, her voice tinged with concern.

"There has been a lot of running back and forth today," John supplied. "I'm hoping it was because he was onto something."

"He's gotta be scamming them," West snorted. In their three years together he hadn't seen Smith do much honest doctoring, at least not after their initial first day out in space. He'd come to doubt that Smith was actually a doctor of medicine at all, and he wondered why, if that was true, Smith would allow himself to get embroiled in this problem.

"I hate to admit this, Don, but I suspect that maybe, just maybe, he may be what he said he was after all."

"Yeah, well, if that's true, he wouldn't be wasting his time standing by a window just staring out it when there is nothing to see."

As John turned back to the view port, he noted the Smith's silhouette had disappeared.

The new slides showed exactly what Smith had expected to find — more of the bacteria was in the intestinal tracts of the infected aliens. His hunches had paid off. He was now fairly positive that he'd discovered the causative agent. But two problems remained. One was how did it spread, and the other was how did one kill off the bacteria before said "germs" killed off more patients?

Without knowledge of the various species, he didn't know where to begin. Time seemed to drag at a snails' pace. He stared out the artificially darkened bay and the dark looking portal.

"Ah, my stalwart servant, what to do now. That is the question before us." He gently patted the Robot's torso.

"Go back to square one? Try to access the ships' database?"

"I wish there were a more expeditious solution to this dilemma," Smith sighed heavily. "Why are some beings so ill and others not?"

"You said it yourself — some bacteria affects beings differently."

Smith shook his head. "Yes, but if a dangerous strain of bacteria or a toxin winds up in the circulatory system of a human, then you can bet that human is going to wind up seriously ill if not dead. And bacteria can gain access into the body in a variety of ways. That alien in the bedroom isn't walking so I don't know how he or any of the others got it. One thing the crew leader told me is that not all visitors of his particular species are ill despite their having had contact with the tribbles. So what is the connection?"

Lightly, he tapped his forehead, as if the motion would pound some sense into his stressed mind. "I feel as if the answer is just before me, but I can't seem to reach out and grasp it. It's so frustrating."

Outside, several of the exterminators left the bay to check on bringing supplies back inside. Unnoticed by them a small, almost invisible creature drifted past the white coated being and began a methodical search of each ship. When it entered the ship of the purple eyed N'las, it finally spotted its quarry. On gossamer tendrils it piloted its way along the ceiling above the Robot.

Silently it snuck up on the unwary doctor, who dozed fitfully in his chair. The alien lightly touched the skin around the head and neck, then joined with the sleepy consciousness of the human in a caress that soothed. Still, Smith awoke with a start. His mind careened around the room, sensing the presence of another mind, knowing it was familiar but unexpected just the same. Finally, with the aliens' help, he calmed down.

But the noise alerted the Robot, who came to attention with his familiar loud cautionary phrase. "Warning. Warning. Intruder present."

"Hush, you doddering dunce. This intruder is not hostile. I repeat, not hostile. Which reminds me, your vigilance was sorely lacking just now."

Disappointed at both the rebuke and his failure to detect danger, the Robot returned to a more watchful position near the door.

_ Greetings once again, Ceph_, Smith said, after his thought grew organized.

_ Greetings, Zachary,_ the alien whispered kindly. _I have heard what was going on here and around the Gaelorian Gem. I was worried about you and came to see if you are all right. How is it that you are here and not with your friends?_

Eyes still closed, because he couldn't see the floating jellyfish overhead anyway, Smith replied, _I am trying to figure out what is killing these people._

_ Any success?_

_ Limited, _Smith admitted. _I believe I have located the causative agent_ — and in a split second he was able to convey his findings — _but lack other facts, such as what mode of transmission. Not all of the N'las, for instance, are ill._

_ I understand. I've heard the Az'mit and the Coragnanci are ill, but only some. Yes, it is strange._

Smith began to pace, and sensed some distress from Ceph for all the repetitious movement. _Sorry. I'm getting worked up._

_ For good reason,_ the aliens conceded graciously. There was a moment of completely silence, though the two remained completely linked.

"I wish I could help that N'las," Smith muttered, his voice laden with anxiety. "And I wish I could find out what he did that was so different from the other creatures on board this vessel."

_ There might be a way,_ Ceph told him almost immediately. Even as the thoughts were forming in its mind, Ceph allowed the doctor to see its ideas.

_ Is that possible_? Smith asked curiously ... hopefully.

_ Of course. Provided I can get my podbrother to assist me. He thinks what we are doing is pretty revolting._ There was humor in Ceph's tone, and Smith found himself laughing aloud.

Slowly the Robot rolled back into view, wondering what the doctor was laughing at since he'd heard nothing of the conversation. With a back handed dismissive gesture, Smith ordered him back to his post. Circuits sighing, the Robot did as he was commanded.

After Smith put gloves, spare masks and other equipment into his medical bag, the duo, human and alien, wandered down the gangway and walked toward the guard at the portal. The being jumped to instant alertness, not due to his being caught napping but because of the strange sight of the human wearing a jellyfish halo. Nevertheless he was good at his job. "Halt! You know you are not permitted to leave without the appropriate authorization."

"Fine. Rouse up your fearless leader and tell him I wish to depart — temporarily, of course — from this area."

"I will not wake him without knowing why you wish to leave."

"I require further information about the other sick N'las on this ship, and I cannot obtain it from here."

"Very well. Wait one moment."

The alien clasped a tiny cylinder in his huge paw, and depressed a small button on its smooth shaft.

"WHAT?" Any angry chittering sound exploded from the tiny rod.

"The human physician wishes to leave. But there is something else you should know. He's wearing a 'floater' from the Zastuven System."

"Wearing a cloudworlder?" The pitch of the voice grew shrill. "Where?"

"Uh, on his head."

"Be right there!" And there was an audible click as the crew chief disconnected.

Seconds later the leader approached, minus his robe. His chitonous carapace flashed alternating bands of flaming orange and yellow. Smith noted that he hadn't forgotten the protective mask.

"What's all this abou..." The alien slid to a skittering half. "Oh, I see. New look for you, doctor?"

Smith forced a hearty laugh. "Indeed. I shall create a new fashion rage." The he turned deadly serious. "I need to leave. Now."

The leader ignored him and pointed at Ceph. "How did that 'floater' get here? There were none of his kind in here before. Besides, the shuttle vehicle that brought them here left soon after arrival."

"You," he said, addressing the multi tendrilled creature, "should not be in this wing. You have facilities and should have remained there per orders given to all visitors and guests. You have broke quarantine."

Smith felt Ceph sigh with both humor and frustration. _You 'talkers' always forget that we can't communicate without special devices...which I left in my dwelling._

With this method of interaction, Smith's thoughts were instantaneously transmitted back to the floating alien. _Then how are you able to understand him now?_

Again that gentle laughter. _You forget, Zachary. What you know I know._

_ Indeed. Well, as we say on Earth, 'Time to blow this popcorn stand.'_

The alien transmitted confusion. _What's a popcorn—?_

_ Never mind. It just means, let's depart immediately._

_ Agreed._

The entire interaction between the Zastuven "floater" and human had taken less than a heartbeat. The crew leader was still bobbing and waving before them in agitation.

Deciding to be the mouthpiece for both of them, Smith stated, "He is my friend and came out of concern for my health and safety. He apologizes for any breach in protocol. However, his timing was quite expeditious because he has given me an idea on how we might solve this medical problem."

The crew chief crossed his two front pincers in a very human fashion.

"I don't know if I should allow you to exit from here. The Galactic Organization for Disease Control has radioed that they will arrive in less than one standard day."

_ What took so long?_ Smith wondered, mildly piqued. His knowledge of the Galaxy and its operations was sorely limited, but just the same he would have expected a faster response time.

Ceph decided to answer himself. _The GODC's central headquarters is located about 4 standard days from here. From your mind I can translate that out to about 3.2 of your normal days. Since the GODC is located in a distant spiral arm of this galaxy, it takes a while to get to this region. Secondly, they give primary jurisdiction of contagion control to individual worlds. If that world is unable to provide a solution on its own, then and only then does the GODC step in. With all the red tape, as you humans say, it's a miracle they are coming __this__ quickly. And that is only because there is no ship's doctor to make progress reports to them._

Smith gave a mental snort of derision. _That means it's still up to us to try to accomplish something. In one day's time more of those infected could die. And many more could become infected by whatever the transmission agent is._

He saw the crew leader still waiting for a reaction.

"Lives may depend on our quick action," Smith stated quietly. "We don't have time to waste."

The alien gurgled deep in its throat. "Very well, but make sure you stay out of the quarters of the healthy visitors."

"Agreed." _For now,_ he thought.

The huge portal doors hadn't been more than one quarter parted before Smith and Ceph dashed through. They made their way to the special needs sector of the vessel. This was the area where airborne or water dwelling creatures resided.

They stopped outside a heavy round door. Ceph began to unwind his graceful tentacles. _Stay here. The atmosphere inside would make you sick. As soon as I discuss matters with my podbrother I will return._

One long gossamer tendril floated past a lit panel beside the door and it opened gradually. Inside Smith noticed another, similar door in back of the tiny room, a design similar to that on the Jupiter 2, serving to split one environment from another.

Leaning against a wall, arms crossed, Smith spent his idle time trying to collate all the available information he had already garnered through research. And he sent up a silent prayer that their joint efforts would yield positive results.

About ten standard minutes later the portal opened. Smith turned expectantly. Two creatures floated side by side in the little antechamber. He wouldn't have bet money on which one was his friend. The answer was quickly answered, however, when one of the pair reached out its long tendrils, attached them to his skin, and nearly enveloped the crown of his head.

Ceph's mental emanations seemed somewhat vexed. _ My podbrother has agreed, quite reluctantly, I might add. Touching another being in such an intimate manner is something our kind tends to avoid, though I admit I don't know why. I have found our contact to be quite interesting and rewarding._

_ As have I,_ Smith acknowledged sincerely. _I suspect the answer is because such contact reveals both the noble and hideous thoughts most beings possess. I certainly would not desire to be linked, for instance, with a mass murderer._

_ I suppose you are right,_ Ceph sighed. _I confess it wasn't easy "linking" up with you the first time either. Your memories are flooded with intense anguish and difficult choices. Had I not been in danger of being crushed to the ground, I would have immediately broken our contact._

_ I consider myself fortunate that you did not._

_ I too! But come, let me introduce you to my podbrother._ Saying that, Ceph stretched out his nearly translucent tendrils in a graceful arch and entwined them with the other "floater". Immediately upon contact, Smith's mind was bombarded with many familiar sights of Ceph's home world, plus a wide assortment of emotions. Revulsion was foremost, but not the kind of disgust born of superiority. Smith felt the creature's fear zigzag through its empathic pictures.

Once again, he felt his body awash in endorphines. The conscious part of his mind realized that Ceph was trying to create an artificial barrier, to suppress Smith's painful memories and thereby shield the other alien somewhat.

It worked. The other "Zastuven" creature stopped moving multi tentacled extremities. Agitation seemed to drain out of it. Ceph cut the contact after giving some brief directions. Then the alien guided Smith and his podbrother to another section of the vessel.

Outside one door marked with a quarantine warning, they stopped and Ceph swiped at a red panel. A load moan came out of some invisible speaker. At Ceph's prompting, Smith stated — with more professionalism that he felt — "I am Dr. Zachary Smith. And I wish to come in and do a quick examination. I request permission to enter."

Another moan was the only response he got. Shrugging with one shoulder, and feeling a mental surge of reassurance from Ceph, he waved one hand over the white panel. The door responded instantly. Smith entered cautiously, his nostrils assailed by a horrible stench.

Across the ornate room, he saw a large alien prostrate on the bed. Like the N'las back in the landing bay, this creature was rotund, covered in thick, short fur, though blue in color this time. Its eyes, all three of them, were a piercing orange. Instead of a duck's bill, this creature had a banded, hooked beak. It moaned again, piteously and clutched its protruding stomach.

Smith noticed that the alien had been "ill" repeatedly. He scooped out one surgical mask he had stuffed into his medical bag and donned it quickly. In addition, he put on surgical gloves. He tucked his spare sets back into his bag.

A brief physical exam followed. He discovered the same ridiculously high temperature, the rapid respiration, and slow pulse rate. Smith noted that the creature also had four naked ear canals and appeared to be bipedal in design.

"Not N'Las," he observed aloud.

_ No, Bnlak Rulan,_ Ceph informed him.

_ But similar to N'las,_ Smith persisted.

_ Similar. Same general sector in space. More hospitable planets than your own arm of the galaxy. Also, the N'Las and Bnlak Rulan and others in that sector have been in space for thousands of standard years._

Smith grunted, but stored the information for possible use.

_ Okay, I'm ready. Try to link up with him or her or whatever it is. Also, please tell your podbrother to try to locate only those memories connected with what this fellow was doing just prior to becoming ill. The_ two "floaters" once more looped tendrils. The podbrother stretched toward the head of the Bnlak Rulan. Smith knew the connection was achieved by the sudden influx of memories, thoughts clearly not belonging to his new assistants. He moaned as his soul cringed from the shocking history of this creature, a history most definitely more ugly than his own. Cold, cruel, soulless, nearly devoid of positive emotions, the Bnlak Rulan was in short ... detestable.

Imagery was flashing around so fast that Smith felt a headache beginning to pound all over his skull. _Slow down!_ his mind screamed, as a hiss escaped his clenched teeth. _Too much...too much!_

Ceph, as mediator, struggled valiantly to sort and channel images. His tendrils waved wildly from distress. The barrage of negative imagery lashing out of the Bnlak Rulan's mind nearly crippled all three of them.

_ Concentrate!_ Ceph pleaded with his podbrother. _Don't give up; lives depend on our success._

Smith heard it and tried to add his own silent plea. His stomach was rebelling at the waves of pain and dizziness. He nearly dropped to his knees, and tried to take a few deep, cleansing breaths. As he did so, he felt a change in the pattern of images. The podbrother was adjusting. Adapting. And sorting.

Soon Smith was receiving images of the hours spent prior to the onset of the illness. Gambling (and cheating) at the casino, imbibing a variety of intoxicating beverages, gorging itself on plentiful banquets, and tryst with another Bnlak Rulan in a different room.

Once the podbrother was able to get a good hold on limiting the memories and putting them in coherent order, Smith paid close attention.

Suddenly an image flashed in his mind. The room they were in! And piles of tribbles all around. The Bnlak Rulan was clearly annoyed, and was hurling the creatures out into the hallway or against the wall. Finally in sheer rage it flipped one toward the ceiling. As it fell it disappeared from sight.

At first Smith couldn't make out what he was "seeing", and then it dawned on him. The tribble had vanished...because it was sliding down the gullet of this repulsive creature. He heard and felt the Bnlak Rulan's surprised pleasure at the taste. Soon, more of the tribbles were being shoveled into its beaked maw.

_ They ate the tribbles!_ Smith's mind gasped, even though he knew Ceph was receiving the exact same images. _Disgusting! I think I'm going to be sick!_

_ Later! If I can tolerate it, so can you!_ Ceph replied matter of factly. _And now you have the answer to one question._

Smith nodded. _It would appear that this Bnlak Rulan ate an infected tribble. And that is how the disease probably spread to him. But we must find out if the same is true of the others who are sick._

Ceph's podbrother immediately broke contact. It was clear he wanted nothing further to do with the Bnlak Rulan.

The trio hastily withdrew from the room. They marched from dwelling place to dwelling place. Few had the warning markers but scattered about they found other species who were sick. And after probing their thoughts, they found that all had snacked on the little purring furballs just prior to falling ill. A few who were still somewhat alert admitted that they'd dined on the little creatures.

Smith was rejoicing. He'd found a pattern. The tribbles had picked up the disease, and those who ate the tribbles had also picked up the disease. Elated, he fairly danced back to the landing bay to record his notes. But not before thanking Ceph's podbrother for his sacrifice of time and comfort. The alien's internal organs seemed to brighten in a host of color.

_ My podbrother is pleased at your courtesy,_ Ceph told him, infusing the doctor with a rush of warmth and gratitude.

The facts on this medical malady were being compiled in the laboratory when the crew chief scuttled down the cramped hallway. "Bad news, human. Several of the Bnlak are not ill. And some of the sick never ate any tribbles. That puts a crimp in your theory, does it not?"

"Did the healthy Bnlak eat any tribbles?"

"One admitted to tasting one when he first found it wandering in his room. But he didn't care for the flesh. However, he shows no sign of illness."

Sinking back into a couch in the lounge area, Smith brought the printouts of his research. That did put a crimp in his theory, he was forced to admit. Getting up after the crew leader had left, he paced around the room.

Ceph had long since let go and was floating, stationary, in one corner, his tendrils looped around a cabinet knob for stability. Smith looked up at him, and said forlornly, "Well, my friend, back to the drawing board."

The Robot, still standing guard for Smith's protection, moved over to him. "Maybe you follow your hunches," he suggested. "Your Doctors' intuition seems to have been leading you down the right course all along. I suggest you relax, catch a brief nap, and you'll be more clear headed when you awake."

Staring at the Robot, Smith realized he'd gone about 24 hours without sleep, like in his Residency years, and he had barely noticed it. Exhaling loudly through pursed lips, he wandered back to the couch. Picking up the pile of papers and placing them on the floor nearby, he stretched out on the soft sofa and closed his eyes. He never even felt himself drift off.

Snoring loudly, the Doctor awoke with a start, glanced at his chronometer and saw that only 40 minutes had passed. Still groggy, he got up, rubbed his smarting, bloodshot blue eyes, and stared at the pile of papers on the floor. _Lots of information,_ he told himself, _yet I'm missing something. But what?_

He reviewed the facts. The tribbles clearly carried a bacteria. It evidently killed them by destroying the intestinal lining and entering the blood stream where it did further damage to the other organs. When ingested, that tainted flesh was thereby infecting other alien species. But why some and not others? Apparently some of the "tribble eaters", even if very small in number, hadn't become ill. And some "non eaters" had become ill.

"OF COURSE!" he yelled suddenly, scaring both Ceph and the Robot. "The tribbles aren't the problem. They're just a hose, another victim. Not the mode of transmission...at least not the initial one."

"What do you mean?" the Robot inquired, moving closer. His cybernetic memory storage systems were intrigued by what he was hoping to learn.

Smith put two hands on the Robot's torso and spun him around with an absurd little chuckle. "We've been overlooking the most important fact. Where did the tribbles pick up the disease? Did the trader have it on his ship, and did he give Penny a sick animal? Or did they somehow pick it up while on board this vessel? Listen, my roly poly recorder — those blasted beasts were apparently getting all over the ship. What if they got into something that was tainted and then spread the disease?"

"That wouldn't explain those who didn't ingest the tribbles," the Robot replied.

"No, it doesn't. But if that tainted source was also consumed by other aliens then they too would fall ill without ever having eaten the tribbles."

"Makes sense to me," the Robot answered. "But how do we limit the search for food types? I overheard that the medical team should be here in another half day or so. That doesn't give you much time to research food sources before they take over. And after having dealt with aliens as much as we have, it's fairly certain they won't listen to your ideas."

Smith looked about ready to make an acerbic comment concerning the Robot's opinions, then, for once, thought better of it. This was one ally he might need later, he knew. He reached up one hand to brush against Ceph's free floating tendrils. The contact, though not as intense as normal, was enough to convey his suspicions to his partner.

Without warning, a loud rumbling from his mid section reminded him that he was both starved and thirsty. He ordered the Robot to bring him something to assuage his hunger and thirst, then sat down to wait for his meal. It wasn't long in coming. The fare was the same simple grain and vegetable dish all the humans had eaten since being in quarantine.

At first he eyed it with some trepidation, but realized he'd already be sick if the bacteria was dangerous to his system. So, ravenously, he wolfed down the meal, totally forgetting his manners but not caring anyway. Then he downed the tall, cold glass of water in about five deep gulps.

"Ahhh, much better," he purred with contentment. He leaned back for a moment, allowing the meal to settle. He stared at the crystal goblet as the overhead lights sent prismatic threads of light out of its facets onto the white table surface. The kaleidoscope of colors served to mesmerize him for a few restful moments. Then he looked back at the goblet and saw a single drop of water burping its way slowly down the rounded surface.

Instantly he jumped up, knocking over the chair. "It may not be the food, Robot!" he called out to the waiting mechanical man. "The bacteria could easily be in the water. Oh, I'm so foolish! I answered my questions early on and never realize it." He paused to smack his forehead with an open hand. "The water! Like my example of E. Coli."

After calling for water samples to be collected, he rejoined with Ceph.

_ Excellent! You may be right. But that still doesn't tell me why this isn't an "epidemic", as your people call it._

_ Because some forms of bacteria can live quite contentedly in the human gut, existing in a mutually beneficial symbiotic relationship. Most likely this bacteria is not harmful to the intestinal tracts of some species, but __is__ deleterious to the digestive tracts of other species_.

_ Now, it still may be found in the food,_ Smith continued, _but the water would surely be the easiest place to start._

_ True,_ Ceph agreed. _How will you analyze it?_

_ The Jupiter 2 has what I require for something that simple. I only need to isolate the bacteria from the biopsy samples then run a correlation study against the water samples. If there is a match, we know we've found our culprit._

Then his thoughts sobered. _The same can be done with culturing food specimens, but it could take much longer to find matches._ "No rest for the weary," he groaned aloud. He spoke to the crew chief about obtaining a water sample, which showed up about 30 seconds later from the main supply pipe outlet.

"Was the container sterile?" he asked, as he swished the clear, harmless looking water before his eyes.

The alien gave him a long, piercing look. Its multiple antennae jerked in irritation, but it left without comment and came back after approximately ten minutes had passed with another container.

"Sterile. Sealed and marked," the crustacean grumbled in a flat, atonal voice.

Smith ignored its ire. "Thank you. I shall inform you of the results as soon as I've processed them." Turning, he waved on the Robot. "Come along, you doddering dodo; we have work to do." Before he'd moved two feet Ceph latched onto him and went along for the ride.

Not only did the Doctor ignore the ire of the crew chief, he also ignored the curious stares of the Robinson party. It had always been his intention to hide his expertise in order to avoid being pestered all day long for every little hang nail or paper cut. But preoccupation with his task led him to forget everything except the job before him.

Maureen, John, Don and the children watched him process the samples at a feverish pace, as if he were racing some invisible clock. The printouts began flowing out in white ribbons. As soon as the humming of the printer ceased, he wadded the papers up in both fists and dashed back out again, white streamers flying out behind him. The cephalopod looked as it were hanging on for dear life, but never did let go.

"That was interesting," Don quipped sarcastically.

"I don't know, Don; I kind of liked seeing him do all that useful stuff," Will commented with a grin. "Now I know I won't need to bother Mom every time I cut myself."

Had Smith been within earshot he surely would have resigned from "active duty" and filed for sick leave for the rest of his voyage in space. By that point, however, he was nearly back at the N'las' lounge.

The crew chief was none too happy to see him. "Your patient is nearly dead. I hope your medical equipment yielded some decent results."

Smith stared into the portal of his temporary quarters, thinking about the poor soul inside. Even if this N'las had been as bad as the Bnlak Rulan, he still mourned the life that would soon pass from this plane of existence. Distractedly, he murmured, "I'm going to review the data now." He turned to look straight at the stalk like eyes. "How long before the GODC gets here?"

"Not for a while yet. Their cruiser had a drive malfunction."

"Too bad. I'd hoped they would have antibiotics to kill the bacteria."

"There's still hope that it'll be fixed quickly. If such is the case, they may be here a bit after midday meal."

"I surely hope so," was Smith's tired reply. He realized he'd managed well so far, but there was still more to do.

With his two companions nearby, Smith settled in to peruse the reports. It didn't take long to see that his assumptions were correct. The water had been contaminated with countless bacterium. There were, according to the results, the same species in both the dead aliens and in the water supply, which conclusively stated that the water was the method of transmission, at least to the tribbles. From there, the aliens either drank the contaminated water or had eaten some ailing tribbles.

"And," Smith explained further, "those aliens who weren't sick either had a tolerance for the bacteria as we humans do or they weren't drinking the water at all. They may have preferred another beverage during their stay and luckily for them abstained from imbibing the tainted water."

"That doesn't explain how the bacteria got into the water in the first place," the Robot reminded him. "If it had been there a long time, then obviously the illness would have shown up sooner."

"No, you are probably correct," Smith acknowledged. "On Earth the standard mode of transmission, of E. Coli for instance, is through fecal contamination of the water supply. This alien bacteria might propagate in the same environment. But the Gaelorian Gem is incredibly advanced. I can't imagine that such contamination occurred here. Of course, I'm no expert on their water purification systems."

Pausing, he thoughtfully stroked his darkly stubbled chin. He quickly squashed the fastidious side of his nature that yelled at him to go shave and shower. _No time_, he yelled back. Aloud, Smith looked closely at the Robot, who was incapable of showing emotions. But he could hear them in the Robot's voice. "What do you think, my dynamic detective? Is it possible the system was contaminated intentionally?"

The bubble shot skyward. "Possible, yes!"

As if lecturing to students, Smith continued. "One thing I noticed is a correlation in the DNA studies I did earlier. Most of the sick advanced life forms appear to have common features, both anatomically and genetically. Typically, if they lack a natural immunity and are inter related species, they could all fall prey to a specific virus. And if their physiologies are compatible, susceptibility to bacterial infections could be similar as well.

"Therefore, our answer lies not just in how they got sick, but why. First, we must ascertain if it's possible to accidentally pollute the water system. If the answer is no, then maybe this was not an unplanned occurrence."

"So... you believe this was deliberate?" the Robot asked in an astonished voice.

"Not yet. But, my silver sidekick, there's trouble afoot. I can smell it."

"Don't you think you're over reacting?"

"If I am then I'll know soon enough, won't I?" Smith gestured for Ceph to join him. Once the link was complete the told the translucent alien about his hunches. _Come, I want you to tell me all you know about the interrelationships of the aliens who are ill. You spoke of some of it earlier, but I need further information._

_ As you've observed, the N'las and the Bnlak Rulan are of similar stock Also, the two are fond of slave labor. They subjugated a species called the ShanDow which were then genetically altered to survive on the N'las and Bnlak home worlds. The genetic manipulation allowed a certain amount of cross breeding between Bnlak and ShanDow. Over the generations the slaves, both ShanDow and half breed, occasionally escaped and formed independent colonies on worlds considered beneath the N'las' notice. Their off spring became the Azmit or Coragnani._

_ Some of who fell prey to the bacterial here, _Smith stated, with a firm nod of his head.

_ Correct! Anyway, back to the original space faring groups from that sector. In a more distant way, at least in terms of light years, they originated out of Cel'nar'lat, Bnlak Zeg, and Ty'at. In turn, they are related to the Limnat and Brokani, said to be the oldest of those lineages..._

_ Wait! Now those names ring a bell. _Smith twisted to face the Robot. "Weren't we informed that the ship's doctor was incapacitated during a brawl between the Limnat and...and..."

"Brokani," the Robot finished for him.

"Exactly." Smith began to pace again, ignoring the being above him who patiently waited for him to vent his excess energy. "Don't you think it odd that the Limnat and Brokani should be slaughtering each other one moment, evicted the next, and then suddenly genetically compatible species are dying of a disease that isn't affecting anyone else? If these beings are as advanced as Ceph says then it's not beyond reason to assume they could genetically engineer a form of bacterium specifically designed to kill their enemies."

"A bit obvious, don't you think? Surely someone would have suspected when only that lineage was dying off here."

"Not if they used the presence of the tribbles to hide behind. It'd be convenient to blame them."

"I agree, but still, the Limnat and Brokani were gone before we arrived."

Smith shrugged. "It's not impossible for a third party to complete the job. Some people will do anything for money." _I ought to know,_ he brutally chastised himself.

"Again, I concur," the Robot responded. "But the fact remains that the Limnat and Brokani were all kicked off the ship."

Fists clenched at his temples, Smith tried to press some sense into his jumbled thoughts. A light began to glow behind his eyes. "I recognize the dispute between the two factions was over. But maybe the initial altercation wasn't limited to fisticuffs between the vacationing Limnat and Brokani. Isn't it possible that, in their zeal to hurt one another, they weren't merely lashing out at one group but against an entire lineage?"

Inspiration exploded like fireworks. _Ceph, who is related to whom?_

_ The N'las, Bnlak Rulan, Bnlak Zeg, and the half breed slaves are all descended from the Brokani. Limnat spawned the others I mentioned._

Smith fairly raced out of the ship with Ceph and the Robot hot on his heels. He cornered the crew chief as they were having a break. "I need information. Immediately." Smith fought to catch his breath, not because he was winded from his exertions but because of his excitement. "Tell me, do you have access to records of who has died of the disease and who hasn't?"

"Yes," the crab like leader answered, putting its half chewed food down.

"Are all of them either of the N'las, Bnlak Rulan, Azmit or Coragnani?"

The alien entered information into a credit card thin wafer with a tapping of its pincer tips. "All, yes. You have found answers?"

Totally ignoring the question, Smith pressed on. "What about the Cel'nar'lat and the Ty'at? Are any beings of those worlds here?"

Again the crew chief checked and gave a positive affirmation.

Now came the most crucial of questions. "Have any of them fallen ill?"

"No. None."

Smith suddenly crumpled to his knees in mental and physical exhaustion. There it was. The answer. It all came together at last.

As others crowded around him in concern, Smith said, "Someone from the Limnat lineage has put bacteria into the water supply, counting only on the Brokani descendants getting sick. I don't think the tribbles figured into the equation then. In fact, I suspect that the ship's doctor would have assumed the illness was some endemic to the N'las/Bn lak and their crossbred slaves. He would think the source was probably a virus carried on board with them. With no one else getting ill, that would have been logical. And since not all of them would have drank the water, most experts wouldn't have assumed there was a problem.

"What they didn't count on, perhaps, was the furball factor. The tribbles, being small and unexpectedly susceptible, got into the tainted water early and died quickly, thereby causing a problem. The N'las/Bn lak group also ate the tribbles, making more of them sick than the Limnat would have expected. That drew much attention, including that of your crew as well as the GODC.

"All this implies that the plan got seriously out of hand. Instead of a few isolated deaths pointing to some unexpected viral infection, a significant percentage of guests from one star sector fell ill."

"Fascinating theory, Doctor. Okay, I'll buy that. But it leaves us with the question of who polluted the water supply?"

"Obviously someone of Limnat lineage still on board this vessel. Or one who left shortly before the tribble trouble began. Still, they would have no real reason to leave since they would have known they'd be immune. And like an arsonist sticking around to enjoy the havoc he's created, the perpetrator probably remained to watch the results of his actions."

"Getting a confession will be nearly impossible."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Smith said smugly. "My friend Ceph here is a pro at gathering information. If he's willing, you could utilize his services. Any one of the Limnat line who refuses to cooperate should be held for further questioning. If they do comply, well, they'll certainly be in for a surprise, since concealing the facts from Ceph won't be easy."

_ So, my steadfast friend, are you game? _he asked silently.

_ Game?_

_ Willing to be at their disposal if they need your...talents._

There was a brief hesitation, and Smith could easily sense Ceph's reluctance. But the answer came just as he knew it would. _I suppose it would be wrong to refuse if my abilities are genuinely needed._

_ You'll do fine. If I'm still around and you need me...come._

_ I don't think they'll force you to leave...even if Penny did start the tribble travesty._

Smith's laughter was rich and deep. _Too much of my personality is wearing off on you, Ceph. You are starting to sound like me!_ With his right hand he reached up to touch the gossamer, almost silky, tendrils by his ear. Ceph did not withdraw. _To respond to your comment, I don't know what will happen now. The Robinsons have over stayed their allotted time by a day, at least._

Turning back to the crew chief, Smith stated bluntly, "He'll render any assistance you might require, IF you need it. However, I propose that you tell the Gaelorian Gem's staff to award him a much deserved vacation when he's finished. Heaven knows I couldn't have solved this without him!"

The large crustacean bent all legs, lowering its body about halfway. "I will inform the proper authorities of your suggestion."

"Now that I have accomplished my main objective, there is one crucial thing to do," Smith explained to the Robot once he got back inside the Bnlak Rulan's vessel.

"Find a cure for the bacterial infection," the Robot replied, stating the obvious.

"Precisely. I've already cultured the toxic bacteria to identify it, and now I'll expose it to various antibiotics from the Jupiter 2. If any of them are effective in eradicating the bacteria from the nutrient medium then I will administer the antibiotic to the alien — under extremely close surveillance, of course."

"And hopefully the cure won't be worse than the disease," quipped the Robot.

Smith simply glared back at him.


	9. Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

Just as the bacterial culture, off white and bumpy, began to die from exposure to one common, Earth generated antibiotic, the GODC crew paraded on deck in full protective equipment. Long before they approached Dr. Smith, they were regaled with much information from the crustacean crew chief.

They hastily reviewed Smith's data, concurred with his findings, and transmitted the information to their ship. Less than 30 minutes later they had created an antibiotic suitable for the Brokani descendants, which would probably control the course of the disease.

The odds were that Smith's solution might have also worked, but he was glad that he didn't have to put it to the test. Though he'd seen this through from beginning to end, he was immensely relieved to let the specialists take over.

The Bnlak Rulan, on board his ship, still clinging tenaciously to a tiny spark of life, was put under the best care any being could receive. He was whisked away to the hospital ship almost immediately.

Without further comment, Smith returned to the lab and scooped up his medical kit and diagnostic instruments. He assured himself that he'd gotten it all.

"Time to go, booby. We've accomplished our task. Admirably, I might add."

"You're actually including me in that 'we'?" the Robot asked incredulously.

"I'm feeling particular generous today, you ignominious ingrate. Don't make me regret my magnanmity."

The Robot raised both claws in surrender. "I'll quit while I'm ahead."

"Wise choice." Smith smiled with his eyes alone. "Oh, and before I forget, I am now reiterating my previous direct order. You are not to discuss any of this with the Robinsons or Major West. Understood?"

If the mechanical man could have shrugged his metal shoulders, he would have.

At the bottom of the ramp, Smith was greeted by the huge alien from the front desk. They talked quietly a minute and Smith followed him, but not before handing off his equipment to the Robot along with orders to return it all to the ship.

"Cut out of the fun again," the Robot grumbled as he rolled back to the Jupiter 2.

About an hour later a sober faced Dr. Smith heavily tramped up the steps. He checked to make certain the equipment was secured back in its proper place, and without a word went toward his cabin.

Don stopped him with a single word. "Doctor!"

Smith turned to face him. _Darn,_ he thought. _ If he's treating me with respect then I'm __definitely__ in trouble!_ Standing stolidly, thumbs hooked over his belt, he braced for whatever was coming.

"The Robot has been strangely silent about what went on over there. I don't suppose you'd be willing to tell us anything, would you?"

Still unsmiling, Smith slowly shook his head. "Sorry, Major. I did what I could, but as you probably saw, they still had to haul my patient away." He hated saying it. First, because the lie caused a perfectly good bragging opportunity to get chucked out in the garbage chute, and second, because it left him open to the Major's barbed insults.

Eyes glittering with evil intent, West geared up for a nasty comeback but was cut off by a hard look from Judy and the Professor.

Hands crossed over his broad chest, John Robinson caught hold of Smith's eyes with his own. "So you are trying to say that you accomplished nothing?"

"Not as much as I'd desired, but more than I expected," Smith answered cryptically, then disappeared into his cabin, closing the door with a loud thud.

John turned to Don. "Well, Don, time to shove off. I have no interest in having someone demand more of our deutronium. Let's get our pre flight checks underway."

As they were gearing up for their upcoming voyage, the staff of the Gaelorian Gem delivered a note to John with a grand flourish. When he opened the ornate seal, he found a note printed in English.

"What does it say?" Judy inquired, craning her slender neck around her father's should.

"I don't believe it!" he exclaimed incredulously. "The Gaelorian Gem has awarded us a full week's stay, complete with luxury accommodations and all meals, plus unlimited use of the facilities during that time."

Maureen gently took the paper and read it. Perplexed, she asked, "Why?"

"Pay back for the trouble they put everyone through," John surmised aloud. "Or maybe to assuage people who are considering litigation. Not that we'd go that route anyway."

"Well," Don interjected, "I don't know about you, but I sure would like to take them up on it. An all expenses paid vacation would give me a chance to wine and dine Judy until she can't stand it anymore."

Smirking, Judy lightly smacked his arm.

"Just promise me you'll stay away from Smith!" Don added loudly. "I don't think I could stand another minute of competition."

At that, Judy burst out with buoyantly joyful laughter. "Only if you promise me you'll be as charming as he was!"

When all but the elder Robinson had left the ship to examine their new quarters for the next week, Smith exited his cabin. He casually took the lift to the upper deck where John was securing the ship. John jumped when he realized someone else was there with him.

"Smith! I thought you'd gone already."

"Not yet. I just wanted you to have this," the doctor responded meekly.

John took the white rolled paper. Opened it. And gasped. He was holding in his hands a series of hand drawn but meticulously detailed star charts. _A pay back from the Gem's staff for services rendered_? he wondered silently, but didn't ask. Somehow he sensed he'd get a typically evasive answer.

"Do with them what you will, Professor."

Fighting to control the shaking of his hands as he located both Earth and Alpha Centauri, John asked, "Where did you get these? I tried days ago and was told there was nothing available for our sector of the galaxy."

Blue eyes, intense and piercing, gazed back. "Does it really matter?"

"Yes. I wouldn't want any trouble."

"Suffice it to say that a little birdy told me, and I can assure you, that it was honestly gained. So what will it be, Professor? Forward or back?" Smith asked, sounding as if the answer wouldn't really matter either way.

"What would you suggest?"

With a tiny half smile, Smith shrugged. "The choice is yours."

John tossed his head, laughing. "I'd still like to hear your opinion."

"Wherever thou goest, I shall go," came Smith's wry reply. Then he walked to the lift, got on it, and pushed the "down" button. Just as his head disappeared from view, a voice boomed out from below.

"But if you happen to crave another vacation, I wouldn't mind a little detour to the Riviera!"

4


End file.
